


Primum Opus

by Twiddlesticks



Category: Shovel Knight
Genre: Gen, background OCs for flavour, brief mentions of drug use, but that gets cleared up later so bear with me, ether specifically, fair warning- our heroes are a little cosmetically different from the games, rating might change a little down the road, some blood and injuries as well as a certain amount of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twiddlesticks/pseuds/Twiddlesticks
Summary: Before she was Mona the Alchemist, or Mona-that-lady-behind-the-wall-who-plays-the-flask-game, she was Desdemona Mopes, the student, the black sheep, the loner, and she wasn't going to let anything stand in her way./My take on Mona and Plague Knight's first meeting and subsequent collaboration, from Mona's point of view. Cause I'm a sucker for these two.





	1. Unknown Quantity

The Academy of Alchemy was one of those castles one only heard of in children’s stories. It was enormous, and craggy, hewn from black stone and sporting far too many creaky-looking turrets for its own good. The front doors were grand old oak, with mysterious designs carved into them, and the grounds were vast and filled with herbs of every kind.  
It was the largest school in the kingdom of Humeheath, and single most successful producer of licensed alchemists in the whole wide world. As far as the Humeheathians were aware, at any rate. 

Each of the teachers were first-rate alchemists, but none was more famous than Ballard the Brilliant. Stories of his alchemical exploits were legendary to the locals, and the old man was constantly being visited by foreign dignitaries for his mystical services. He was a humble man, however, and preferred his work at the school.

“Honing young minds is my passion. I can see nothing more rewarding than filling the world with future generations of clever young alchemists!”

Every year, a select number of third-year students were chosen by Ballard himself to attend his private classes, and learn from his very own textbooks. Such students exhibited above-average talents in alchemy, and were sure to have successful careers after they went out into the world.  
At the start of each year, the third-years would wait impatiently for old Ballard to descend from his high tower to hobble amongst their ranks, reaching out to those in which he saw glory.

One of these lucky students was a young woman by the name of Desdemona Mopes. When the old alchemist had stopped before her and placed a wizened old hand on her arm, she’d cracked the largest smile anybody had ever seen on her. Desdemona was a quiet young lady, with a cold, apathetic face and a personality to match. Yet, in the practice of alchemy, an alchemical change seemed to happen in her as well. 

“Ms. Mopes, step forwards and begin your synthesis.”

Professor Ballard’s classroom was situated in a tower adjacent to the one he lived in at the school. The surface of the floor lived an ephemeral existence, as students chalked alchemical circles upon it, and the cleaning staff washed them off at the end of every day. At the moment, each student was being tested on their ability to produce Aqua Fortis, a useful and dangerous compound. 

Desdemona walked into the centre of the classroom, to the specially prepared receptacle that her acidic brew would soon fill. As she moved, her brown student robes billowed around her in a regal manner, and her thick, long braid swung gracefully back and forth.  
There was something etherial about Desdemona. She moved with an almost preternatural grace, and there was something undefinably off in her otherwise lovely features. Her perfectly rosy cheeks and raven hair gave her the look of a fairytale princess. Unfortunately for any hopeful suitors, she didn’t act accordingly. 

Desdemona came to a halt before the receptacle. She stooped, and chalked a circle around it.

“Ms. Mopes? What’s this?” croaked Professor Ballard, “One does not need a circle to complete this task…”

“I had an idea, professor,” replied Desdemona, still stooped over her work, “I can increase the effectiveness of the Fortis and produce it more easily by simply multiplying the oil of vitriol— here, just watch.”

She stood up and carefully began adding her ingredients. As she did so, a strange light seemed to flicker in her eyes and a rare smile curled her ruby lips. Alchemy transformed her, enflamed her— it was her passion and her delight.  
Professor Ballard simply gave a deep, resigned sigh, and settled in to watch. This was a common occurrence in his classroom. Ever since Desdemona had joined his classes, she’d always insisted on deviating from the source material, experimenting with established methods, and generally being quite the nuisance. She was talented, and learned quickly, but her imagination and enthusiasm often brought her trouble.

Case in point…

“Oh! There it goes…”

Desdemona covered her mouth with a fold of her cloak as the receptacle began to hiss and sputter, belching noxious fumes. In a matter of moments, it had melted into the floor. Desdemona leaned back, planting her hands on her hips.

“…Hm. Maybe a little too intense… There must be something strong enough to hold it…”

“Ms. Mopes.”

Desdemona looked up, hopefully.

“As usual, you’ve proven yourself far too overzealous,” chided the old instructor, “All the ingredients are there, yet your overconfidence spoils the brew… do you understand?”

Desdemona’s face hardened back into a stone mask, her shining blue eyes turning dull. 

“Yes, professor,” she mumbled, “Sorry, professor.”

“Please sit down. Mr. Morten, you’re next… Prepare yourself while I ring for the cleaning staff…”

Desdemona swept back to her seat in the half-circle at the back of the class and sat down. She watched without seeing as Professor Ballard went to ring a bell, and Morten shyly shuffled to the centre of the room with his bag. 

The worst feeling in the world, she mused, was throwing one’s whole being into one’s passion, only to discover that one was no good at it.

At times, the feeling overwhelmed her, seeping through the broken beakers in her hands and into her robes, leeching like a poison into her heart and suffocating her.  
She knew it was foolish– she was only a young woman, after all. All the instructors at The Academy of Alchemy were wizened old men, and those were the younger ones. She had plenty of time to learn and improve. But she couldn’t help but notice how her classmates seemed to excel around her, while she was left behind to sweep up shattered flasks and potion spills. Worst of all, it had been such a struggle just to get to the Academy in the first place. 

Desdemona Mopes was the youngest of three sisters born to nobility. Her parents were accomplished magic-users, and favourites of the king of Humeheath. Her childhood had been a privileged one, full of pleasures only those in the king’s inner court could enjoy… but it hadn’t been happy, exactly.  
Unlike her older sisters, who were content to learn poetry and music and how to wear a gown just right, Desdemona wanted something… else. She didn’t think less of her family for their pursuits -on the contrary, she often envied them- but she simply wasn’t content with sitting still or playing scales all day. She wanted to build, to create, to invent.  
As a child, mechanical contraptions of all kinds fascinated her. She begged her parents on their afternoon strolls to take her to the local tinker’s, to let her see his strange devices and gadgets.  
Her parents had not approved.

“A tinker works with his hands. We are nobles; a noble’s hands must never be tarnished.”

Nor had they approved of magic, though that was rather more warranted. As she thought this, Desdemona raised a hand unconsciously to the vibrant pink jewel that hung at her chest. Her mother’s words echoed in her ears. 

‘You must never remove this, do you understand, darling? It is the only thing that can keep you safe from yourself…’

So no magic, no machines. But then, of course, she’d discovered alchemy, which existed between those worlds. As she grew into a young woman, she’d begged and wheedled her parents to allow her to go to the Academy of Alchemy. By this time, she’d fully accepted her status as the black sheep of the Mopes family, and used it to her advantage. 

‘I’ll be out of your hair,’ she’d implied, ‘My presence will no longer sour your sweet lives— I’ll be happy, you’ll be happy, and in the end, I’ll have something to make you proud with…’

But of course, it seemed as if she’d never be able to keep her secret promise. She simply wasn’t good at alchemy. Day after day, class after class, Professor Ballard’s verdict was always the same.

'Too much, too fast, too strong, too clever by half…'

And no good. 

Shaking herself out of her gloomy musings, Desdemona suddenly noticed a funny burning feeling at the back of her neck. She turned her head slightly to see a boy she didn’t recognize staring at her from a few seats down. He was ordinary looking -maybe even a little handsome- with chestnut brown curls and a splash of freckles across his nose. She quickly turned away, satisfied to know the cause of her discomfort and not interested in looking any deeper. 

“Ah, Mr. Petrel. This is your first class, I believe?”

Professor Ballard’s voice drew her attention. To her surprise, she saw the boy who’d just been staring stand up with a slight bounce.

“Yes sir,” he said. 

“My beloved students, this is Mr. Bertram Petrel,” said professor Ballard, holding a wrinkled old hand out to wave Bertram to the front of the class, “He is rather a special case… As I’m sure you’ve all noticed, Mr. Petrel was not with us at the beginning of the year, nor any previous. He is in fact not a student here, but a simple farm boy from a nearby hamlet. However, his talents are plentiful, and I was very impressed by his appeal.”

The class exploded into whispers. 

“What? He’s new? Completely new? Just some random farm boy?!”

“This is ridiculous– how good can he really be?”

“This isn’t fair!”

Ballard shook his bald head and rapped his cane on the stone floor. The whispers died down.

“Now, now, settle down, settle down! You all know that my judgement is sound, and that my instincts are never wrong. All I choose are chosen fairly. Mr. Petrel, would you kindly show the class why I’ve made this special exception for you?”

Bertram nodded.

“Yes sir!”

He walked forwards towards the newly replaced receptacle and began neatly unpacking his ingredients. Desdemona noticed that he put everything in the exact order that Professor Ballard would when he did his demonstrations.  
Once Bertram was finished, he began to add ingredients slowly to his receptacle. His hands shook a little, and he kept glancing at the professor as if seeking confirmation. The other students watched haughtily from their seats. What could this farm boy do?

“There, I think that should do it,” said Bertram, stepping back.

Professor Ballard hobbled forwards, and carefully used a small flask attached to a pair of tongs to scoop out some of the solution.

“And there you have it, students,” he cackled, “A perfect sample of Aqua Fortis. Note the distinctive yellowish hue…”

There was a stunned silence as Professor Ballard went on to demonstrate the liquid’s properties. Bertram gave a small bow, almost a nod, and returned to his seat. As he did so, Desdemona was sure she saw his eyes flick to her face, then away. Who on earth was this kid?  
She couldn’t help but feel a sense of frustration, like the other students. Here she was, struggling at something she’d been working diligently on for the past three years, and this little upstart pops out of the sticks and shows her up immediately. Yet, at the same time, she had to admire his skill.

The rest of the class passed quickly as the other students tried their hands at producing Aqua Fortis. The reactions were varied, but none so drastic as Desdemona’s. When the class ended, the other students packed up their things and separated into their little groups and cliques. 

“I can’t believe this. I’m paying my weight in gold to be here, and that little whelp can just waltz in at any time?”

“He’s talented, though! You saw him get the Fortis right on the first try! And Professor Ballard chose him, just like he chose all of us!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to like it…”

“Hey, are you guys going into the village today?”

“To get my robes darned, yeah.”

“I’m going for dinner.”

“Better do all that before it gets too late— there’ve been sightings of Plague Knight again.”

“Plague Knight? I thought they caught him last month!”

“Nope— turned out to be someone transmuted into his likeness. He’s a slippery guy…”

“Yikes. Guess my dinner plans are off…”

“You can eat with me! I’ve got a tonne of stuff stashed in my lodgings!”

“Thanks, but I’d rather have the cafeteria food…”

Desdemona slowly put her powders and books into her bag, vaguely listening to the chatter around her. She didn’t have a clique to be a part of, nor friends to speak to. She didn’t mind it this way, exactly. Not exactly…

“Hey. Nice job with the Fortis, heh.”

Desdemona looked up. Bertram was standing in front of her, smiling, one hand tugging on the strap of his shabby looking bag. 

“I’d say you were pretty close to getting something really nice. Just have to tweak it a little bit… Play around with the components just a tad…”

“You don’t say,” replied Desdemona, flatly.

“Don’t bother, new kid,” called one of the nearby students from their group, “Mopey Mopes doesn’t talk to anyone.” 

Bertram gave the boy an appraising look.

“You were just before me, weren’t you? …Orson, right?”

The student blinked. Bertram smiled, innocently.

“Your Fortis was more like Aqua Weak-is.”

There was a long silence, before Orson decided to ignore the annoying new kid and go back to chatting with his friends. Bertram turned back to Desdemona.

“As I was saying…”

Desdemona yawned, interrupting Bertram’s attempt to regain his train of thought. 

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

She then turned quickly and left the classroom.


	2. Projection

Desdemona spent the rest of the day brooding. She was never in the best of moods after a failed experiment, but the addition of Bertram only made things worse.  
What was his deal? Why was he so interested in her disaster of a Fortis? Was he mocking her? …Or was it another damned crush?  
It was a depressingly common occurrence in her life. Not that she resented her looks, but being pretty was a bit of a double-edged sword. On one hand, pretty people often got a better lot in life, and Desdemona was very grateful for that particular aspect. On the other hand, prettiness attracted… people. And Desdemona wasn’t interested in dealing with people. Years of experience had taught her that people were interested in you only long enough to learn that you were actually kind of weird, and then they decided that really, you weren’t as pretty as you looked.  
Luckily, a couple of well-timed yawns and an uninterested gaze was enough to turn most people off before they got that far, saving her a lot of disappointment.  
‘Bertram’ would be just the same, if indeed he’d decided to set his silly farm boy heart on her. 

She decided to put it out of her mind for now. No point in dwelling on something that made her even more gloomy than usual. Besides, she had better things to do than dwell on annoying boys.  
Descending the staircase, she made a beeline for the library. She had a few books to return, and some to pick up as well.  
The library was a fairly small space, as there were few alchemical books that weren’t standard textbooks or professor Ballard’s personal tomes. A team of monks came around every few years to bring further copies to the school and replace the old, destroyed ones.  
Desdemona always wondered why the staff didn’t simply use alchemical multiplication to create copies of the books, though she supposed recreating all those tiny words would be pretty fiddly. 

There were five shelves in all in the library, and a few reading tables for students to study at. Desdemona approached shelf number five to replace her copy of Cyranides. She knelt to place it on the bottom shelf where it belonged, when she heard a scuffle coming from the shelf ahead of hers. The shelf suddenly rocked dangerously, and Desdemona darted forwards to push it back into place.  
She stuck her head through a gap in the books to see what on earth was going on on the other side. A pair of exceedingly short students were standing on each others shoulders, trying to get to the top row.

“Stop squirming!” said the one on top, who appeared to be a young toad. Desdemona could see his unshed tail peaking out from beneath his robes.

“You’re squirming, you stop!” grumbled the one on the bottom, who was human, as far as she could tell.

Desdemona strode around the shelf, shaking her head. ‘Freshmen…’ It was depressing to see eighteen year-olds acting like this. 

“Which book?”

The pair of students squeaked in surprise and fell over, nearly smashing into the bookshelf behind them. The frog student sprang up, staring in fear, while the human one sat on the ground clutching his head.

Desdemona sighed.

“Yes, I’m horrifically tall,” she said, monotonously, “Thanks for noticing. But I’m prepared to use said height to help you get whatever you nearly knocked the shelf over for. So out with it.”

“P-P-Papyrus–– G-g––“

“Papyrus Graecus Holmiensis.”

“Y-yes! B-but we can’t seem to find it…”

“That’s because you’re looking in the wrong shelf.”

Desdemona swept around the shelf behind them and took down a book. She returned to the two students, who’d managed to straighten up by this point, and handed it to them.

“Here. Maybe next time, use the step ladder.”

She pointed to the corner where a wooden ladder stood, waiting to be used by vertically-challenged students such as the two currently blushing and stammering before her. 

“T-t-thank you…”

“Uhm, thanks…”

Desdemona turned without another word and went to put away the rest of her books. 

\- - - 

After leaving the library, her next order of business was to stop by the supply shop. Most supplies for class were prepaid and provided freely to all students. However, if anyone wanted to get some extra salts or gums or what-have-you to practice with, they’d have to go to the supplies shop. The prices could be steep at times, but luckily, Desdemona had sufficiently deep pockets. 

“One projection set, please,” Desdemona said as she approached the counter. 

The shopkeeper had a raspy voice and always kept their face hidden by their cloak. To an outsider this might have seemed odd, but many alchemists preferred to keep their hoods up. The purpose was mainly to hide nasty burns and scars sustained during the practice of their art. But it also enhanced one’s mystique, and most professional alchemists wore their hoods at all times. 

“Here you go, Ms. Mopes. That’ll be just a bit more than usual…” hissed the shopkeeper, sibilantly, “Extenuating circumstances have presented themselves, recently…”

Desdemona fetched a palmful of coins out of her robes and placed them on the table. The shopkeeper reached out a taloned hand and took them, momentarily placing them in the centre of a small alchemical circle burnt into the counter.

“…Good girl,” rasped the shopkeeper, pleased.

“Oh come on. You know I’m always good for it. And besides, do you really think I’d pay an alchemist alchemical gold?”

The shopkeeper laughed, “You’d be surprised how many students try.”

A smirk wobbled its way onto Desdemona’s face. Some people were such idiots. The shopkeeper placed a few bags on the counter and Desdemona took them, nodding appreciatively before continuing on her way.

The day was drawing to a close, and she was starting to get hungry. She headed down to the mess hall, a large room with rows of benches and tables set up for students to eat on. The kitchen was situated nearby, and operated by a nervous, if dedicated staff of villagers. The floor of the mess hall was decorated by a huge, intricate alchemical circle, which sat at the very centre of the chamber. It used to be brighter and more vivid, but years of shoe scuffs and dropped bits of food had turned it dull and worn. 

Desdemona stepped up to one of the small windows connecting the mess hall to the kitchen. 

“What’s on the menu today,” she asked, dully. 

The slightly over-cheery attendant on the other side answered, “Stews, mostly!”

“Give me whatever’s heartiest. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

A few moments later, a bowl of chunky brown broth as thick as mud was delivered to the window by the smiling attendant. 

“Here you go, ma’am! Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking the bowl in her gloved hands and carrying it to the loneliest of the tables to eat.

Whatever the chunks were, some had a slightly rubbery texture, while others melted instantly in her mouth. The broth itself was very salty. None of it was identifiable. Overall, not the worst meal the cafeteria offered.  
She ate slowly, hoping to absorb as much nutrients out of the questionable stew as possible. Today had been such an utter disaster that she was planning one of her midnight trips.  
Whenever Desdemona felt especially poorly about her alchemical skills, she liked sneaking out at night to experiment with some of her own hypotheses where nobody would disturb her. Tonight, she had something in mind that she’d been working on for quite some time, and she hoped tonight might be the night she perfected it. If she could simply show professor Ballard the fruit of her secret labours, she was sure to get back into his good books…

When she’d finally swallowed all of her salty brown muck, she stood up from her seat, disposed of her bowl in one of the dish tubs at the corners of the room, and made her way quickly to her lodgings. The Academy had a block of small rooms where boarding students could keep their things and sleep. They were tiny and almost cell-like, but they served their purpose.  
Time to take a power nap before heading out. Desdemona put her book bag and supplies under her bedside table and stripped down to her shift before climbing into her cot and closing her eyes. 

Her sleep was, as usual, fitful and full of strange, twisting nightmares. Dreams like these always plagued her when she was especially upset or stressed out. She awoke a few hours later, in total darkness. It was definitely after lights-out.  
She slipped out of bed, taking care not to make a sound, and threw her student cloak over her shoulders. Scooping up her bag of supplies, she tiptoed out of her room and into the corridors. At night, the hallways were patrolled by Slimulacra guardsmen to make sure that nobody was creeping about unsupervised, be they students or intruders. Luckily, they weren’t the most intelligent of creatures, and with a little practice, Desdemona could avoid them easily.  
She was used to moving stealthily inside castles anyway— she’d had plenty of practice in her parents manor when she was younger, sneaking out to indulge in her unladylike hobbies. 

Slipping past the patrolling guards, she ghosted her way down the halls and into one of the empty classrooms. Professor Plash, who taught the freshmen, always left his room in a state of complete chaos. This was partly because he was often too distracted to call the janitorial crew, and partly because the constant mess left by his students made it useless to clean.  
Desdemona liked his classroom because it was easy to experiment in without arousing suspicion. Who cared if she left a few smudges of powder here and there, when the entire room was covered in the stuff? It did mean she had to be careful of contamination, though, but she was fairly confident in her abilities to get around that.

Once she was sure the coast was clear, she slipped into the classroom and set up her circle. Tucking a hand into her bag, she removed her projection kit and the skull of a mouse. She’d gotten the idea for this project when she’d happened upon a nice cache of rodent bones hiding in an unused broom closet. The things were so plentiful, she had a feeling some kind of predator had been living there. Where it had gone, she did not know, but in its wake, it left her with an opportunity. 

Desdemona sat cross-legged in front of her circle, carefully pouring powders out onto each point. Her hypothesis went thusly: Lead was the basest metal, and through alchemy, it could be transformed into gold by changing the properties of its living nature. All objects were alive and composed of the four elements. If lead could be projected into gold, could not another object be projected into lead, and then into gold?  
It would be amazingly useful if she managed to get it to work correctly. No more lugging lumps of heavy lead around to make your alchemical gold— now one could create a full purse from practically anything! Sure, the resulting gold wouldn’t be very high-quality, according to her calculations. But an unwary shopkeeper would take anything so long as it glittered. 

Desdemona placed the mouse skull at the centre of her circle and carefully began to draw the powders to it. She poured a little water over the concoction, mixing it just-so, following her carefully refined recipe. 

“Alright, now… From bone to lead, just increase this… decrease that… careful now,” she muttered to herself, concentrating. 

After the skull was completely covered in a muddy paste, she took a match from her bag and lit it, dropping it onto the skull and drawing away, covering herself in her cloak. To her relief, there was no loud explosion. When she risked a peek, she found the powders had burned away and left…

“Yes!” she hissed. The skull’s off-white bone had gone grey and shiny. 

She stood up, rushed to the equipment closet, removed a pair of tongs and cleaned them hastily on her cloak. She then carefully lifted the skull with the tongs, testing its weight. Once satisfied, she placed the skull back in the centre of the circle. Now it was time for the most important step… 

Desdemona sat back down and began mixing more powders into a small crucible from her bag. 

“Alright… here we go… don’t screw this up, Mona, you’re so close…”

Desdemona placed the crucible into the circle and then submerged the skull in it. She poured a liquid overtop, then lit another match.

“Here goes nothing…”

Her eyes glimmered with excitement as she let the match fall and retreated under her cloak once more. Yet again, there was no explosion. However, a faint hissing sound could be heard. Desdemona peeked out at the crucible, and noted the faint bluish smoke issuing from it with a sinking feeling. 

“No… Damn, I was so… so close.”

She let out a deep sigh. She tipped the crucible over with her tongs, and sure enough, the lead skull tumbled out, now filled with little holes. 

“Wow! Not bad!”

Desdemona moved so fast she disappeared. One moment, she was crouched over her failed experiment, feeling as heavy as the disfigured lead it had produced. The next, she was at the very back of the classroom, feeling queasy and searching panically for the source of the sudden voice.  
There, in the doorway, stood a shadowy figure. As her eyes adjusted, Desdemona recognized the speaker. 

“Wow. Sorry— I should’ve knocked, or something.”

“Wh– What are you—?”

Bertram took a few steps into the room, smiling that placid, innocent smile. 

“Doing out after hours? Nothing much. I like exploring. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He winked, glancing from the circle on the ground to Desdemona herself.  
Desdemona drew herself haughtily up to her full height, tossing her dishevelled braid over her shoulder and wrapping her cloak around herself, tightly. She was only wearing a shift underneath, after all. She wondered, in the back of her mind, how Bertram was so good at navigating the halls if he’d only just enrolled? But that was a mystery for some other time. Right now, she had to deal with the little sneak. 

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I was just watching your projection,” he said, calmly, “It’s fascinating— turning a skull into lead! Why would you do that?”

“How long were you watching, exactly?” Desdemona shot back, ignoring his question and raising an eyebrow, “You some kind of creep?”

To Desdemona’s pleasure, Bertram blinked in surprise, then turned a little pink. 

“What–– No! No, no. Nothing like that, I…”

“Right. You were just ‘curious’…” she replied, playing up the doubt in her voice to fluster him further. She just loved making people squirm when they annoyed her. 

Bertram folded his arms.

“Your alchemy is something else. I just happen to appreciate good work when I get a chance to see it.”

Desdemona crossed her arms as well. 

“Well, show’s over, creep. I failed. Again. I’m going back to my room, now.”

Bertram looked slightly disappointed.

“Won’t you tell me what you were trying to do, before you go?”

“No,” she replied, simply, walking back to her failed experiment and gathering up her tools. She scuffed out her circle with her heel, then straightened up to find Bertram still staring at her.

“Are you really going to do this?” she asked, incredulously.

“I’m just curious,” he said, innocently.

Desdemona narrowed her eyes. She wanted sleep and to be away from him.

“I was trying to project it. Fully. Two hops, skull to lead, lead to gold. Satisfied?”

Bertram’s eyes lit up, and he let out a little gasp, “ah! To reduce the hindrance of transporting lead and increase the available materials to fill your coffers..!”

For a moment, the ghost of a truly unnerving grin flitted across Bertram’s face. But the next second he was smiling that placid smile again. Desdemona wondered if the late hour and gloomy lighting were playing tricks on her.

“Yep. Anyway, bye.”

She brushed past him aloofly, her cloak fluttering behind her.

“Goodnight!” she heard him whisper after her, as she left. Ugh.

 

Before returning to her room, she slipped out into the grounds and hurried to the old well. She heaved a bucket of water up, letting the chilly night air cool down her burning skin. Not only had that stupid whelp scared the living daylights out of her, he’d also made her use magic by accident. Luckily, her stomach had stopped churning now, and she felt relatively stable. That was good. That was good. Everything was okay.  
She took a mouthful of water from the bucket before using the rest to wash her filthy feet and the hem of her shift. Her cloak’s cleanliness didn’t matter, as it was normal for a student’s outer-wear to be disgusting. 

When she was safely back in her room, she stuffed her supplies haphazardly under her bed and burrowed under her covers, not even bothering to untie her braid. As usual, she had another nightmare. In it, a cackling raven swooped down and stole the special pink jewel from around her neck.

‘Give it back!’ she shouted, angrily, sending shards of glass flying at the obnoxious bird, “You’ll kill me!” 

The raven simply dodged, crowing smugly, and disappeared into the night.  
Desdemona woke the next morning feeling like she hadn’t slept in weeks.


	3. Ignition Point

Breakfasts at the Academy were a little different from dinners. While the dinner crowd fluctuated, coming in when they had the time or forethought to eat, the breakfast rush was always the same. Everyone had classes or chores to do in the mornings, so they all had to eat on time.

Desdemona filed slowly into the mess hall with the rest of the students, lining up by the kitchen windows to receive bowls of gluey porridge and bread.  
She was exhausted and grouchy, which made her usual stony scowl even stonier. It was so brutal that the normally cheery attendant at the window winced, slightly, and nervously handed her her bowl of porridge at arm’s length.  
Desdemona wasn’t fazed. She simply carried her bowl to the end of a packed table and began to eat, not really tasting the thick, oaty paste. The hubbub of the mess hall droned in her ears, making her even more irritable. But by the time she’d finished her breakfast, she felt a little better for having food in her. 

Her first class was always a lecture with professor Langlog, who was the historian of the staff. Professor Langlog would speechify for hours on alchemists long-past and their achievements. Most students agreed that if the classes didn’t have a set number of hours, he would simply keep talking until he collapsed.  
Desdemona didn’t mind his lectures much. She was fairly interested in the exploits of such historical figures as Mary the Prophetess and Geoff the Reanimator. Remembering every exact date and time was a pain, but not if she took careful notes.  
Today was no exception, and soon another eight pages of Desdemona’s personal notebook were crowded with her neat, cramped handwriting. 

The next class took place out in the gardens, where the students were to discern and collect certain useful herbs for their brews.  
The gardens were situated to the east of the Academy, rows upon rows of earthy plots packed with everything a healer or poisoner could ever need. They were tended to by more villagers hired from the nearby hamlets, and the plots were fenced in and protected by scores of little alchemical traps set by the staff at their request. Mere scarecrows and cow-fences didn’t cut it in an alchemist’s garden.  
Desdemona preferred exploring the grounds in the evenings, when it was cool and dark. The daytime was often hot and bright, and she had to wear her hood up to make sure the top of her raven-black head didn’t overheat.  
Luckily, today was overcast and a little misty, so Desdemona was comfortable as she tugged up sprigs of thyme and echinacea under the gardener’s watchful eyes.  
While healing wasn’t the main purpose of alchemy, nor Desdemona’s favourite, she did find it a useful skill to have. Considering the amount of times she’d burnt or cut herself by accident, a good healing potion was worth a mint. Heh. 

Lunch was directly after the work in the grounds. Some students skipped, and others travelled to the nearby village to eat something that didn’t come from the wretched Academy kitchens. Desdemona didn’t mind the cafeteria food, herself. Food was fuel; she’d have time to treat herself to something she actually liked when she wasn’t busy honing her skills. A quick meal of mushrooms and barley sated her, and gave her time to prepare for the next class, which was professor Ballard’s.

Today would be different. Today, she would actually get somewhere, for once. Her previous failures only served to enflame her need for success.  
By the time she was sitting in the semicircle in Ballard’s tower, she was full of determination for the day’s challenge. 

“Good afternoon, students,” croaked professor Ballard, as everyone settled down and focused on him, “I hope you’ve all thought long and hard about our previous class and how you might improve upon your Aqua Fortis. Today, we’ll be having a little fun…”

Professor Ballard pointed to the equipment closet.

“All of you will don some protective gear, and we’ll all try our hands at making some Fulminating Silver.”

A few students winced, while others looked at each other excitedly. Alchemy was most famous for turning lead into gold, but its second claim to fame was a little more destructive.  
Fulminating Silver was one of the first discovered explosive materials, and an old favourite amongst alchemists. The problem was that it was extremely sensitive. Even the slightest force -a falling feather, a raindrop, even its own weight- was enough to set the compound alight. 

“Those of you who’ve managed to create a safe, stable sample by the end of class will progress to a final stage in which you aim for a target,” said professor Ballard, “Now, to your stations! Make sure to cover your eyes. Ah! And all of you are only allowed one set of supplies— there’s been a rash of thefts recently, and we don’t have much extra if you make any errors.”

Desdemona headed to the equipment closet with the rest of the students, and retrieved a pair of alchemical goggles. Tucking an errant strand of black hair behind her ear, she affixed the goggles over her eyes, turning the world a dark green. Then she made her way to the supplies cupboard, collected the ingredients for Fulminating Silver, and went to find a free space to begin her work. She noticed Bertram shuffling to one corner, as she went. His face was ashen and there was an unsettled glitter in his eyes. Desdemona smirked. So, little Mr. Nosy was frightened of explosives, was he?

The rest of the class was a tense one. Students moved gingerly, carefully adding their silver powder to Spirit of Hartshorn. Not only was the preparation a dangerous operation, but the frequency of small explosions from other students’ failed attempts were liable to surprise others into ruining their own samples.

Desdemona was in her element, though. She refused to let anything distract her from perfecting her Fulminating Silver. She’d been looking forward to a class like this, and had developed a special way to stabilize a larger-than-average amount of the explosive in anticipation. She was really going to rock professor Ballard’s world— possibly literally. As the class wore on, the number of successful students dwindled, until only a handful were left.

“Alright, time’s up,” wheezed professor Ballard, “Those who’ve succeeded in creating a sample, please transport it to the centre of the classroom. 

While the students had been working, the central arena of the chamber had been outfitted with a round target. Five students, Desdemona included, filed to the target with their precious explosive crystals. 

“Now then, let’s see if you’ve managed a proper stabilization,” said professor Ballard, “Ms. Elderwood, you’re up first.”

The student named Elderwood stepped forwards, grinning. She’d made it into the final round, and there was only one more obstacle. She drew her hand back to throw, and— 

SNAP!

Elderwood shrieked as her sample detonated in her hand. Luckily, her cloak and gloves managed to protect her from the blast. Unfortunately, her sample had not made it to the target.

“A good attempt, Ms. Elderwood,” said the old professor, comfortingly, “You just need to fortify the structure a little more… Mr. Fergus, you’re next.”

Fergus’s try went about as well as Elderwood’s, and Lynel followed up with a similar reaction. Finally, it was Desdemona’s turn. She stepped forwards, heart thumping hard in anticipation.

“Ms. Mopes, let’s see what you’ve got,” said professor Ballard, a note of apprehension in his voice.

Desdemona gently wound up, then made a small underhand throw. She watched eagerly as her little bomb sailed through the air in a graceful arc.

CRACK!

The entire class jumped as a larger-than-average explosion sounded, sending a plume of smoke into the air. When it cleared, all that was left was a charred mark slightly to the left of centre of the target. Desdemona mused at the touchingly ephemeral existence of explosives; so much work, only to be consumed in an instant. It was tragically beautiful.  
Professor Ballard didn’t seem to think so.

“Ms. Mopes, I believe I asked you to make a safe amount of Fulminating Silver,” he chided. 

Desdemona wanted to insist that it was safe, and had remained stable the entire class. But why bother? He wouldn’t listen anyway. Nobody ever did. Instead, as usual, her eyes went dull and her face turned impassive.

“Yes sir. Sorry, sir.”

She retreated to the side of the room and removed her goggles to watch Bertram take her place.

“Well, Mr. Petrel, it seems you are our last hope!” chuckled the old professor. 

Bertram smiled and nodded uncertainly, quivering slightly. He raised his hand carefully into the air, then brought it down in a sharp, fluid motion. His Fulminating Silver detonated perfectly in the centre of the target, with a small POP!

“Well done!” said professor Ballard, clapping his hands, “Well done, young man! That was perfect!”

Bertram let out a little sigh of relief and gave another of his short bows. 

“Thank you, professor.”

“I hope everyone observed Mr. Petrel’s demonstration,” said Ballard, heartily, “Please ruminate on that until next class.”

The lesson was over. The students shuffled grouchily back to their seats to collect their bags. Desdemona quickly gathered her things and ignored the gripes of the students around her. She was equally annoyed, but far more willing to swallow her pride. She wanted to succeed. She wanted to learn.  
And so, just as the class was leaving, she cornered Bertram next to the equipment closet.

“Petrel.”

“Oh, Ms. Mopes! Hello! Your performance today was really quite scintillating, I––“

“Teach me.”

Bertram blinked, “Ah… Huh?”

“You’re obviously a prodigy. I don’t care who you are, or where you’re from— I just want to learn alchemy. So, teach me. …Please. I know you’ve got the spare time.”

She gave him a meaning look. Bertram smiled, bashfully.

“Oh, that’s right…”

“I can pay you,” said Desdemona, eager to get this transaction over with, “I’ve got plenty of real gold.”

“Oh, no payment necessary,” replied Bertram.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want your gold. I’ll be happy to teach you for free, so long as I get to watch you work!”

Desdemona frowned, feeling a little irked. He made it sound like charity. But again, she was more interested in perfecting her craft than stroking her ego.

“When?”

“We can start tonight!”

Desdemona raised an eyebrow. His eagerness was quickly outstripping her own. Maybe he really did have a crush on her. She sighed, inwardly. She supposed she’d have to play nice if she wanted his full attention, but it would be worth it to finally make some headway in class. She made an effort to look less scowly, forcing a sort of grimace of cheeriness onto her face. 

“That sounds great. Where and when?”

“Same place, same time,” he said, smiling that placid smile, “I’ll see you tonight!”

“Should I bring anything?” 

“I think… we should try the Fortis again. Bring supplies for that.”

Desdemona gave a curt nod, then quickly turned to leave. She couldn’t keep up that travesty of a grin any longer. Allowing her face to return to its usual dower expression, she mentally prepared herself for the future.  
She wasn’t looking forward to studying under Bertram. But if he could pass on his knowledge, it would all be worth it.  
Desdemona headed down to the supply shop again. The day was waring on, and she’d have to purchase some ingredients for that night before the shop closed. The shopkeeper was waiting for her, pacing behind their counter.

“…Something wrong?”

The shopkeeper turned.

“Ah, Ms. Mopes. It’s nothing. Just a little situation with the stock. What can I get you? I can’t promise we’ll have it, but…” 

“Just some Sal Petrae and vitriol.”

“Hmm… Yes, here we are…”

The shopkeeper disappeared behind the curtain that hid the wares from the buyers. When they returned, they had yet another little kit. Desdemona placed another handful of coins on the table, which were duly verified by the shopkeeper. 

“Busy little bee,” they hissed, “You’ve been practicing a lot, lately…”

“Ahuh,” replied Desdemona, noncommittally. 

“Such a studious little alchemist.”

“Thanks.”

Desdemona gave the shopkeeper a nod and slid her supplies into her cloak.

It was earlier than usual, and the sun wasn’t even that low in the sky. Desdemona went down to the cafeteria and ordered a few legs of chicken. These she could tuck into a napkin and carry around with her while she walked; she felt like visiting the grounds as she ate before the night’s excursion.  
She headed out one of her usual side-doors and trotted down the stone steps outside, inhaling the warm evening air. It was tranquil out here amongst the shrubs and grass. A moment of peace before an unspecified period of vexation.  
Desdemona sat on the steps, chewing through her slightly tough chicken and stowing the bones inside her bag. These might be useful for a little diversion or two later. She watched the sun begin to dip lower, turning the horizon green and the sky pink and orange.  
When she was finished eating, she took one last look at the resplendent heavens before reluctantly scurrying back up into the Academy. 

\- - - 

Desdemona awoke into silent darkness. Time to head to her first lesson… She slipped out of bed and fumbled for her bag and cloak. She hesitated, then decided to get dressed. She didn’t feel very comfortable letting Bertram see her in nothing more than a shift again. Once fully clothed, she tucked her braid over her shoulder and picked up her bag. 

The trip to professor Plash’s classroom didn’t take long, and to her surprise, she found Bertram waiting for her, sitting on one of the desks with a lit lamp beside him.

“Ah! Hello!” he whispered, genially, sliding off the desk and coming forwards to greet her, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Desdemona appreciated the lack of preamble. She shot him another awkward grin and emptied her bag onto one of the desks. 

“Right. There’s the sal petrae and oil of vitriol,” he muttered, “Now let’s make some Aqua Fortis…”

He grabbed a beaker from the equipment cupboard and placed it in front of Desdemona.

“Now, to create Aqua Fortis…”

He trailed off, watching her, expectantly.

“…You mix one part vitriol, two parts sal petrae,” replied Desdemona, trying to sound engaged.

“No, no. Two parts sal petrae and one part oil of vitriol,” Bertram insisted.

Desdemona dropped her pretence of politeness and gave him a stony glance that said ‘thats the same thing’ without having to open her mouth.

“It’s how it’s written in the textbook,” he continued, seriously, “The textbook is very important to follow. It can never steer you wrong.”

Desdemona clenched her jaw but still said nothing. Great; this was turning out to be a blast.  
She dutifully added Two Parts Sal Petrae to One Part Oil of Vitriol, watching as the mixture hissed. 

“If you’re ever unsure of what to do, or exactly how to do it,” said Bertram, “Ask the professor.”

“Meaning you?”

“Me? No! No, I meant professor Ballard,” Bertram tugged at the collar of his robes, “I know it might seem a little childish, but asking a few questions goes a long way.”

There was a long silence.

“…I can see you’re not satisfied. But I promise, this really will help your performance in class. …That’s what you wanted to learn, right?”

Desdemona frowned.

“…I want to learn alchemy.”

Bertram gave her an odd look, his eyes glittering slightly in the lamplight.

“To impress professor Ballard, yes?”

“I guess,” sighed Desdemona, feeling increasingly irked. What was with all these inane confirmations? Learning alchemy and impressing professor Ballard were one and the same. She was starting to regret her decision to take these lessons more and more.

Bertram stared for a moment longer, before picking up her beaker and giving it an exceedingly gentle swirl at eye-level.

“…Hmm. I can’t quite tell by this light, but I think it’s the right colour and everything. …He should like that.”

He gave a succinct little nod.

“Well done!”

“Thanks.”

Desdemona gave a little sigh and propped her head against her hand wearily. Bertram glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then gently put the beaker back down. 

“Well, that’s about it!”

“I gathered.”

Bertram smiled placidly, seemingly blissfully unaware of Desdemona’s disdain and disappointment. Gee, how thick was this kid? All of the sudden, Bertram cocked his head.

“Do that thing.”

“Huh?”

“The thing you did in class. Multiply the vitriol.”

“It’s already in the Fortis. I have to multiply it before it goes in.”

“You’ve still got some oil in the flask,” he pointed to the kit flask she’d bought from the shopkeeper, “Use that.”

“Why?”

“I said I’d teach you if you let me watch you work. I’ve taught you just what you need to do for class. Now show me what you wanted to do.”

Desdemona eyed him uncertainly, “I only brought ingredients for the Fortis. I don’t have anything for multiplication.”

Bertram reached into his robes and withdrew a few sacks of powder. Desdemona blinked.

“You’re not the only one who gets supplies,” he said, simply, “Here, use these.”

Desdemona hesitated, then snatched the sacks and walked to the middle of the classroom. She picked up a piece of chalk from one of the tables, and drew an alchemical circle. She set the circle for multiplication, then put the small half-empty flask of vitriol into the centre. A few moments later, the flask was full again. She put her beaker of Aqua Fortis next to it and poured the vitriol in. The concoction began to hiss and sputter, and then it cracked the beaker. Desdemona backed away hurriedly.

“There. Happy?”

Bertram tapped his chin, watching the beaker shatter and spill vitriolic solution all over the floor. 

“You didn’t look like you were having much fun,” he commented.

Desdemona stared incredulously. Bertram smiled again, opening another sack and sprinkling the powdery contents over the hazardous mess on the floor, nullifying it.

“I think I like you, Ms. Mopes,” he said, thoughtfully, “Please come back for another lesson. I’ll make sure it’s... worth your while…”

For a moment, Desdemona was sure she saw another flash of that odd-looking grin flit across his face. 

“You can go back to your room now,” he said, still tending to the spilled vitriol, “I’ll clean up here. See you in… ohh… three days?”

Desdemona stared. 

“…Yeah. See you.”

Desdemona hurriedly scooped her things back into her bag and swept out of the room. As she snuck down the hallways, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. The more she interacted with Bertram, the less she seemed to know him. Yet, some part of her was curious to discover just exactly what his angle was. Why was he so interested in her disastrous alchemy? Were his lessons just an excuse? That seemed likely, considering how useless the evening had been. But then again…  
Desdemona thought back to two days ago. Bertram’s Fortis hadn’t been flashy or grand, but professor Ballard had loved it. And Bertram had just told her that her Fortis had been… what was it? Just the right colour?

‘Note the distinctive yellowish hue…’

That was what professor Ballard had said as he’d held Bertram’s solution aloft so admiringly. Unless Bertram was lying, maybe there was some kind of unobtrusive, secret method to his otherwise bland madness. Maybe there was some hidden art that was worth sitting through the tedium and peculiarity for.

‘Well, Mona. Is it worth another shot..?’

She thought back to her steaming mess of a receptacle from two days prior. Maybe Bertram’s weird smile was preferable to the professor’s frown of disappointment… 

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for the Kudos! I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope you keep on doing so. As an aside, as more alchemy starts showing up, I'd just like to mention that it's a combination of slapdash research and pure imagination. Certain actual reactions might be over-exaggerated, and others might be totally made up. Terms might be thrown around incorrectly. All in all, a lot of the things that end up being made *do exist*, they just might not quite match the actual chemistry that goes into them.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Seeya in the next chapter. --T.S.


	4. Transmutation

The lessons continued.

Nights spent working by lamplight in professor Plash’s filthy classroom had Desdemona wondering why she was still bothering to show up. Each class was as boring and basic as the last, with Bertram quoting professor Ballard’s textbooks endlessly and insisting Desdemona be very open with her insecurities. This was her least favourite part.

“Just don’t be afraid to let him know if you’re unsure of yourself. He’s here to help, after all,” urged Bertram. 

Desdemona shut her eyes so that he wouldn’t see her rolling them. Being open was not something she was good at. Asking for help wasn’t too much of a bother, but showing insecurity? Talking about her feelings? Ugh!

And yet, Desdemona never missed a single meeting. She still hoped to discover the mysterious secret behind Bertram’s success. At first, it was a torturous experience, but as time went on, Desdemona found herself getting used to being in Bertram’s presence for extended periods of time.  
By their fourth lesson, she was even comfortable enough to hold a conversation. 

“…Where do you go?”

Bertram looked up from his textbook, “Eh?”

“You’ve missed six classes since our first session. I thought you were serious about studying alchemy here.”

Desdemona carefully moved her match along the underside of the alembic she was poring over as she spoke.

Bertram turned a page, audibly. 

“I have to go back to the farm, sometimes,” he said, airily, “The family can’t always get on without me.”

“Oh really? What kind of farm is it?”

Bertram gave another of his vague smiles.

“Vegetable. You’re pretty inquisitive tonight, Ms. Mopes. This is the most you’ve ever spoken to me without being spoken to first.”

Desdemona ignored him, “Is it dangerous, working on a vegetable farm?”

“Not particularly..?”

“Huh. Then you must just be clumsy.”

There was a long silence. 

Desdemona looked up from her bubbling elixir, “Don’t think I don’t notice. You’re constantly nursing some kind of injury when you get back.”

It was a bandaged hand on the first day. Then a hastily concealed black eye on the second. Then a slight limp on the third, and so on and so forth.

Bertram blushed.

“How observant,” he said, fiddling with his textbook, “You must really enjoy looking at me.”

“You wish.”

A grin spread across Bertram’s face, “Now you’re just getting defensive!”

It was Desdemona’s turn to blush. Damn! He’d recovered. Her only pleasure during these boring lessons was embarrassing Bertram with snark, and now he was sucking the fun out of that, too.

“You could do with a little more defence,” she shot back, “As you’re clearly always under attack.”

Bertram puckered his lips in annoyance.

“You won’t drop it, will you?”

“Nope.”

“If I tell you, you’ll laugh.”

“Probably.”

His puckered lips pursed instead. He hesitated, then spoke. 

“…I’m the family scarecrow.”

Desdemona choked.

“You’re––?”

“Our farm is surrounded by overconfident birds, and a regular scarecrow won’t cut it. So my siblings and I take turns climbing up on a tall stick and screaming at them.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I just have a habit of falling off the stick.”

Desdemona swallowed a snicker. She felt bad for Bertram, being hurt in such an undignified way. But she couldn’t help but chortle internally at the mental picture of Bertram hanging on a stick and raving until he made too violent a motion and tumbled off. 

“You’re smirking,” Bertram commented. 

Desdemona’s face went slack immediately.

“Would you prefer it if I was laughing at you?” she uttered. 

“Not especially…” 

 

After that, Desdemona began to find it easier to talk to Bertram. Even though his lessons remained dull and by-wrote, his smiles were becoming more genuine, and his manner less vague and innocent. Desdemona found herself feeling less inclined to snap at him when things became especially tiresome. Her haughty silences shifted into neutral bouts of concentration as she did her best to force herself to religiously follow sets of rules she’d learned ages ago. She didn’t like Bertram, exactly… but she was getting used to him. 

 

“So… Why did you decide to study alchemy?”

Bertram asked her this on their seventh lesson. He was sitting across from her at one of professor Plash’s warped, burn-marked tables with his chin propped up in both hands. His large, hazel eyes stared right into hers, and she hurriedly looked back down at her work.

“I like alchemy.”

“That’s it?”

There was a long silence before Desdemona cautiously opened her mouth again.

“…Yes. Just, in more words.”

“Ah, your greatest weakness. I understand.” 

Desdemona narrowed her eyes. He’d been growing bolder for some time now, making little sardonic jokes like that. 

“I like alchemy because it’s… I get to…” Desdemona searched for something that could describe how she felt about the practice, wanting to overcome her ‘greatest weakness’ just to spite him, “It’s the… the very secrets of the universe, at my fingertips. I can… make things… that other people can’t. Do things that other people can’t. Look at the world and… see something other people can’t. And I want to know… I want to know what that is. Most of all.”

Desdemona quickly put up her hood to shield her burning face. Ugh, what a disaster. That was the last time she would ever try to express something— she’d just made a further fool of herself.   
She refused to look up to see Bertram’s mocking face, but he didn’t even make a peep. He was completely silent. Probably still staring at her, as he was so prone to do. Bertram was so weird.

 

By the thirteenth lesson, Desdemona had memorized half the textbook’s processes by heart. Not that she hadn’t already known them before, but now they were seared into her brain like a brand. Bertram seemed to think this was excellent. 

“But remember,” he said, seriously, “If there’s anything you’re unsure of, just ask professor Ballard! He’s there to help!”

Desdemona exhaled through her nose.

“You should just propose already,” she muttered.

Bertram chuckled. There was something a little more off about him today than usual. He seemed antsier, twitchier, more inclined to jump or move sharply. There was a new bandage on his right arm, as well; Desdemona could see it when he held up her beaker to check the contents, and the sleeve of his student’s robes slipped down. He had that strange smell again, as well. Desdemona had noticed that the more injuries he had, the stronger he smelled of… something. She felt as if she knew the scent from somewhere, but she couldn’t quite place it. 

“I’m already married to the old man’s ideas,” he said, swirling her flask round and round, watching the ruby red liquid inside thicken. 

“You should let that sit,” she muttered, “It says in the textbook that it needs to congeal.”

“It goes faster if you move it like this,” he replied, absently, still whirling the elixir. 

Desdemona stared.

“…What?”

“Letting it sit will make it thicken up, alright, but if you’re in a pinch, gyrating it at this angle will increase the viscosity much quicker…” 

Desdemona narrowed her eyes and stood up.

“That isn’t in the textbook.”

“Well, a lot of things aren’t in the textbook,” he murmured, still focusing on the beaker. 

“You’ve been telling me to learn the textbook by wrote,” Desdemona growled, “Have you been jerking me around?”

Her anger startled Bertram out of his reverie. He looked from the potion in his hands to Desdemona’s furious, gleaming eyes.

“Oh! H-hah… S-s-silly me! Haha, I… I must have, heh–“

“Don’t lie to me, Petrel.” 

Bertram winced. 

“I… Right, er… I may have discovered a slightly more useful way than in the textbook,” he admitted, “But, er… Well, here! L-let me show you!”

His grin was painfully forced. Desdemona planted her hands on her hips.

“Alright. Show me.”

He held out the beaker to her.

“Just tilt it at a forty-five degree angle and swirl it, gently. Pretty soon it’ll become solid, and it’s way faster than letting it sit.”

Desdemona took the potion from Bertram and did as she was told. Just as predicted, a few moments later the red liquid inside had stopped moving entirely. 

“Fascinating…”

“Heh, yes… Indeed… Well!” Bertram snatched the beaker back and put it down on the table, “I’d say that’s enough for tonight! You can go back to your room, now!”

“But–“

“I’ll clean up here,” there was a funny quaver in Bertram’s voice. He walked forwards, almost pushing Desdemona out of the room, “You just go get some rest! You deserve it! You did a great job today, haha!”

Greatly unnerved, Desdemona backed to the door and then stepped out. Bertram all but slammed it behind her. 

‘What the hell?’ 

That was a pretty big overreaction for being caught out. Did that mean Bertram was hiding other useful methods from her? Desdemona walked slowly down the hall, keeping to the shadowiest side. The large church-windows let in a faint light from the crescent moon, and the few torches on the walls added their flickering yellowness. Desdemona stopped.

“What am I doing?” she whispered. She’d been so surprised by Bertram’s actions that she’d left without a second thought. But she couldn’t just let something like that go; Bertram was being more than reasonably suspicious for an alchemist. And besides, she’d been so distracted that she’d accidentally forgotten her bag.

Striding back, Desdemona opened the door and stepped in.

“Pe––“

Bertram was standing at the back of the classroom. He was leaning against the wall, panting, his hood covering his head completely. As she watched, his body began to change.  
It started as a narrowing of the shoulders, followed by a slow drop in height as his legs and torso shrunk. His fingers -and probably his arms- became spindly, and despite the gloom she could see them lose their suntanned hue. His student robes faded into a shabby brown sack-cloth cloak encircled by a corded belt that supported several of the sacks Desdemona knew Bertram carried with him. 

There was a deep, relieved sigh.

“…Just in the nick of time…” came a reedy voice from the place where Bertram once stood, “I should really stop cutting it so close, HEE!”

The figure turned, exposing a long, tan-coloured beak. 

“How did you do that?” asked Desdemona. 

The figure jumped about a mile in the air, then made a mad dash behind one of the tables. Desdemona sighed, quietly.

“There’s no point in running,” she said, dully, “I’m standing in the way.”

The room remained silent.

“I know you’re still in here, Petrel. …Or, whoever you are.”

A muffled giggle issued from the table. 

“You don’t recognize me?”

“I barely saw you.”

“Such a tetchy young lady, HEE!” 

“Just come out already and tell me how you made such a perfect transmutation potion. That’s advanced alchemy. And to have it work without complications is– well, I mean. I assume there were no complications. You’re usually that short, right?”

There was another silence, then a small scuffling from behind the desk. All of the sudden, the figure leapt up onto the tabletop to peer across the room at Desdemona. This gave her a good look at his… Ah. Now she knew what she was dealing with.  
Blank, shining glass lenses stared back at her from the cloth countenance of a doctor’s mask. She’d heard about these; the beaks were stuffed with healing herbs to keep out nasty diseases while the doctors tended to their patients. But this was no ordinary doctor.

“You’re Plague Knight,” she said, flatly.

“There you go, heeheehee! I knew you were a smart girl after all, young lady!”

“Quit it with the posturing,” Desdemona snapped, “You know my name.”

“I do. Heh! But you know nothing more than mine!”

Plague Knight. A monicker whispered nervously in the village streets, or snarled out in the taverns. He was a wanted criminal- a rogue alchemist who terrorized villages with his crafty concoctions and bedazzling brews. His notoriety came not from any overabundance of violence, however, but from his extraordinary slipperiness. Sure, he blasted through anything that got in his way with a variety of cleverly constructed explosives, but his tactics were mainly evasive. Not quite what you would call stealth, but no matter how many hits you landed on him, he always got away in the end. He’d robbed the Rathmarsh keep, blown through the bandit stronghold at Thrushfield, and avoided every knight in the entirety of Humeheath, giving quite a few of them nasty bugs along the way. And now here he was, standing on one of professor Plash’s warped desks and looking rather ridiculous. 

Desdemona crossed her arms, “Obviously. I know a transformation when I see one.”

There was no ‘Bertram’. Alright. That was a little jarring. But it didn’t really change much, did it? At least as far as Desdemona understood the situation.

“But that doesn’t matter,” she continued, “Show me how you did that. Your form was flawless. No weird lumps or broken skin— you even incorporated the clothing. That’s crazy.”

Plague Knight cackled.

“Oh, Ms. Mopes! Only someone as stony as you could take this so -HEE!- well! Am I to take it that you won’t be ratting me out to the establishment?!”

“Why would I rat you out? You’ve got something I want.”

He cocked his head.

“You can’t very well teach me alchemy from inside a dungeon, now can you?”

Plague Knight fell into another fit of giggles. This was beginning to get tiresome.

“Me! In a dungeon! Heeheeheehahaha! You’re so funny, Ms. Mopes. Even if you did alert the guards, I’d––“

“But I’m NOT GOING to alert the guards, because I want you to TEACH ME ALCHEMY.” interrupted Desdemona, trying to control her impatience and failing, somewhat. 

Plague Knight ran a finger along the bottom of his mask, thoughtfully. 

“…You’re really set on this, heh, aren’t you? You don’t care what I’ve done? You’re not afraid of me?”

“I recognize that you’re a capable wanted criminal,” said Desdemona, managing to calm down again, “But you also agreed to meet with me as Bertram Petrel for over a month. I don’t know why, exactly, but now that I know that you’ve been in disguise, I can extrapolate something very interesting.”

Mona’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forwards, slightly.

“Transmutation potions wear off after a set number of hours in relation to the amount brewed. And I just saw it happen. Unless you came up short today, you’ve been agreeing to see me just before your time runs out for weeks. It’s either complete overconfidence -which I wouldn’t discount- or there’s something you want from me that you’re willing to go out on a limb for.”

Plague Knight snickered, “Heehee! Look at those little cogs turn! You’re overcomplicating things, Ms. Mopes. I already told you what I want from you!”

Desdemona narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t mess with me— ‘I want to watch you work!’? Yeah, right. What could that possibly be worth?”

Plague Knight chuckled, “More than you think, it seems! Heehee!”

Desdemona ran a hand through her hair, accidentally mussing some strands from her long, thick braid. This was like some kind of bad dream. She was almost tempted to pinch herself.

“So,” began Plague Knight, hopping off the desk and scuttling up to her. Desdemona stood stoutly in the doorway, watching him. She noted that, as he came to stand before her, he barely reached her sternum, “Now that we both know where we stand, I suppose I have a little, hee, proposition for you!”

Desdemona raised an eyebrow. Plague Knight peered up at her through his gleaming glass goggles.

“You know who I am, now. We can drop all these pretences. What say you come with me on a few of my, uhhhh, errands?”

“Errands?”

“Just a few stops, here and there. The supply closets, heh, the store rooms, heheh, the empty classrooms… If you want to learn alchemy, you can come watch a master at work. …If you help me out, a little.”

Desdemona’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs, “You’re suddenly pretty gung-ho about a stranger bearing witness to all your illegal activities.”

“Ohh pshaw,” Plague Knight waved a hand dismissively, “Witness testimony’s useless if they can’t catch the perp. Besides… you’re no stranger, Ms. Mopes! Hehehahaha!”

It was really beginning to sink in that the young man she’d grudgingly gotten to know over the last few weeks had been a complete fabrication. But this was a minor setback. Pretty much utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, really. A small smirk curled her lips.

“Fine. I’ll tag along. But you’d better show me something neat. No more textbooks.”

Plague Knight tittered and held out a hand.

“Shake on it!”

Desdemona hesitated, then took his diminutive green hand in hers and shook. Upon later reflection, this seemed like a poorly thought-out decision. She knew nothing about Plague Knight, his motives or his plans for the future and her. But Desdemona didn’t care. Plague Knight had snuck into this school with a perfect transmutation potion, bombed the Rathmarsh keep with explosives hitherto undiscovered by man or beast, and here was an opportunity to share in it all.   
She wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the kudos! I hope everyone's enjoying the story! (I mean I suppose the kudos indicate that you are? I'm just nervy.) This is where I can officially say it starts getting good ...for obvious reasons. See you next chapter!  
> \--TS


	5. Collaboration

Seeing Bertram in class the next day was a little surreal. He looked exactly as he always did, his brown curls a little unkempt, freckles dotting his cheeks and that odd, vague smile on his lips. It almost seemed as if last night really had been some crazy nightmare.

But then he made eye contact with her and winked. 

Desdemona looked away and sat down in her seat. Professor Ballard hobbled to the front of the class, carrying a small bag in his hands. He placed it onto a table beside him and upended it. Tiny gold coins tumbled out onto the table.

“My dear students,” quavered the old professor, “As you can see, I’ve brought a bag of exactly twenty gold coins. One for each of you.”

The students peered at the shiny little trinkets, intrigued.

“Today, you will be making Aqua Regia, the magnificent royal water that can dissolve these little beauties. I trust you all know how…”

The students nodded eagerly.

“Very well! You may begin. When time is up, you will each receive a coin to dissolve.”

Desdemona stood up and went to get her supplies. Aqua Regia was a combination of Aqua Fortis and Spirit of Salt, which in turn was a combination of salt and oil of vitriol. She knew, to the letter, the exact recipe that was in professor Ballard’s personal textbooks, because it had been one of the passages that Bertram… or Plague Knight had drilled into her head. 

For once, Desdemona decided she’d try ‘Bertram’s’ boring method. She had the recipe, and nothing much to lose. Perhaps it was finally time to put her derision aside and really put all her ‘hard work’ into practice. 

Once she had all her things, she sat down at a free table and began the process. In one beaker she mixed Two Parts Sal Petrae and One Part Oil of Vitriol, exactly as she had been told. In another, she combined more oil of vitriol with common salt. No special augmentations, no extra inventive ingredients. She mixed the liquids with the same careful measurement as she had when she’d first learned the recipe back in second year.   
Once both halves were finished, she gently added each mixture to a third beaker. At first, the concoction was clear like glass. Then it frothed and hissed. Desdemona covered her mouth and nose with her cloak to avoid breathing in the noxious vapours. As she watched, the liquid turned a beautiful amber colour, signifying its success.

Desdemona sighed. It felt wrong not trying to add anything innovative to the brew, but she wasn’t sure when the next time the professor’s lesson and Bertram’s teachings would intersect. She put her finished Aqua Regia to the side and propped her head up on her hand, waiting for time to be up.

“…You should all be finished, by now,” called professor Ballard fifteen minutes later, rapping his cane on the ground. 

The stragglers hastily put the final touches on their Regia and then stood eagerly by their tables, waiting to be called to the front to test their mixtures. 

“…Ms. Mopes!”

When it was Desdemona’s turn, she dutifully picked up her beaker of Aqua Regia and carried it to professor Ballard. The old alchemist peered at the amber-coloured liquid in surprise.

“…It looks right, doesn’t it, professor?” Desdemona asked, remember Bertram’s pointers on being ‘open’.

“Yes, it does, in fact…” he said, uncertainly. 

He handed Desdemona a pair of tongs, which she used to pick up one of the gold coins and place it into the beaker. It sunk to the bottom and sat there, bubbles beginning to gather around the edges.

“My word…” murmured professor Ballard, “Why, Ms. Mopes. I believe you’ve got it!”

He beamed, “A perfect example of Aqua Regia! Well done!”

Desdemona nodded. She turned, her eyes flitting to where Bertram was sitting. Their eyes met, and Bertram grinned from ear to ear. Desdemona swallowed a smile. For some reason, his grin meant more than the professor’s congratulations, at this moment. 

\- - -

“You know, I thought there was some kind of trick.”

Class had finished. Twenty beakers of Aqua Regia sat on professor Ballard’s desk, happily eating away at their gold coins. Desdemona was standing by the equipment cupboard again, with Bertram. 

“A trick? Ms. Mopes, my methods are no mere trick,” he assured her. 

“I mean, I thought there was something more to your alchemy than following the rules. But that’s… all it was.”

Bertram fiddled with the strap on his bag.

“…Sort of. Not quite. I’ll explain tonight. You’re coming, right?”

Desdemona raised an eyebrow at the triple rhyme.

“Yes.”

“Goodie.” 

He gave her one of his little bows, then headed for the door. Desdemona hitched her own bag over her shoulder and followed him into the hallway. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in unfocused anticipation. Desdemona went about her business absentmindedly, half focusing on her chores as her mind wandered to the coming evening. Would Plague Knight keep his promise? He’d said he would show her some real alchemy. Something exciting. But only if she helped him out a little. What exactly did that entail? It had sounded like he meant supply runs, but she couldn’t discount any other little activities. After all, he was a criminal. Who knows what was going on behind that enigmatic mask?   
But it was worth the risk. If it meant finally unlocking the secrets of alchemy that she just couldn’t learn on her own, it was definitely worth the risk.  
So, when the sun finally set and the curfew bell was rung, Desdemona wrapped herself in her cloak and snuck out of her room. 

The halls were draughty, as usual, chilling the bottom of Desdemona’s bare feet. Her resolve was steady, however, and she crept along at a determined pace, stopping only every once in a while to avoid a patrolling Slimulacrum guard. Despite their gelatinous composition, the guards were fairly unnerving. They were powerful and relentless; once they caught sight of a target, they wouldn’t stop pursuing it until they’d caught it or been destroyed in the attempt.   
Desdemona wasn’t too afraid of them, but every now and then she had close calls. During one of her lessons with Bertram, she’d had to dive behind a tapestry to avoid their line of sight. Thank goodness they were so stupid.

As usual, Desdemona made it to professor Plash’s classroom without incident. It seemed that it had become the unspoken meeting place for the two of them. ‘Bertram’ was waiting for her, looking perkier than usual.

“There you are!” he whispered, cheerily, “Ready to go? We’re headed to storeroom four, tonight.”

Storeroom four was situated in the basement, and it was the largest of the supply caches in the school. There was one on each floor, but storeroom four was the mother of all of them. Any time the other three started to run low, the staff would have refills brought up from the basement. 

“Four’s where they keep all the extra nice stuff,” Bertram whispered, gleefully, “Let’s get down there! Follow me.”

“Alright.”

Desdemona already knew where the storeroom was, but she didn’t feel like arguing. She followed Bertram out of the classroom and back into the halls. They scurried softly through side-corridors and classrooms, keeping out of sight of the evening patrols. Once they reached the end of the corridor that lead to the stairs leading down into the basement, they were confronted with a pair of guards blocking the way.

Bertram gave Desdemona a hand signal to stay put. He crept forwards, reaching into his robes and pulling out a small round object. He edged to the mouth of the corridor, mysterious item in hand. Then, with a small jump, he whipped the projectile through the air. It sailed over the guards’ heads and clattered to the ground in the hall beyond. The guards flinched at the loud noise, quickly turning towards it.  
At that point, the little object began to emit a thin stream of black smoke. The guards, possibly seeing the smoke as a figure, quickly converged on it. Bertram beckoned to Desdemona, and she hastened to his side as he made a dash for the stairs.

Once safely at the bottom, Bertram leaned against the wall, smirking smugly. Desdemona smacked her forehead.

“Gods. I shudder to think what would happen if a real threat got in here.”

“Hey! I’m a real threat,” hissed Bertram. 

“Ahuh.”

They tiptoed into the gloomy basement. Much like the rest of the school, there weren’t many torches lit, making spots of flickery orange light few and far between. This was both a positive and a negative. On one hand, it would be easy to hide in the large gaps of darkness from any oncoming guards. On the other, it would be difficult to see anyone coming, and thus the danger of bumping into an unseen foe multiplied.

“Listen carefully,” whispered Bertram as they moved slowly forwards, “We can hear them coming…”

Every time they heard a soft squelching noise, they would throw themselves flat against the wall and wait for the gluey guard to pass by.

“Lots out tonight,” whispered Bertram, nearly inaudibly, “About time they upped security.”

Desdemona remembered the complaints of supply thefts from weeks ago. Yikes. About time indeed. 

Eventually, after many twists and turns, the two came to a pair of enormous iron doors. Torches lit up the two guards who flanked these doors, both holding gardening tool weapons. The Academy didn’t really have access to swords or javelins, but spare hoes worked just as well. 

“Hmm…”

Bertram squinted at their adversaries. 

“Smoke bomb won’t last long enough for us to get in there,” he murmured. 

Desdemona peered at the guards, thoughtfully. A Slimulacrum was composed of a slime-body with a biomatter core. The core was usually a piece of a dead animal. The more vital the piece, the more intelligent the Slimulacrum.   
An idea struck her, and Desdemona seized her bag. 

“I have an idea.”

“Hmm?”

“We need to surprise one of the guards from the hallways. Can you draw its attention?”

Bertram cocked his head, “Where are you going with this?”

Desdemona was already chalking a simple circle on the floor. Out of her bag she took the chicken bones she’d saved from dinner all those weeks ago, placing them in the middle.

“Got any mercury on you?”

Bertram checked his robes, then pulled out a tiny vial and handed it to her. 

Desdemona let a bead of mercury land on the chicken bones, “Go and scout out a suitable Slime. I’ll be over in a minute.”

Bertram raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told. Once she’d prepared her bones, she scuffed out her circle and scooped up the precious new core.  
Bertram was standing in the mouth of a corridor a little ways down from the storeroom. He pointed into the hall.

“This one’s alone. We should try him.”

“Right. You jump out, and let him see you.”

“Is this an elaborate plot to trap me?” asked Bertram, “Because it won’t work…”

“Just trust me,” muttered Desdemona, steeling herself.

Bertram shrugged, then darted into the hallway. He leapt out in front of the Slimulacrum guard, waving his hands, but keeping as quiet as he could. He didn’t want to attract any more of them.

As the guard caught sight of Bertram and lurched towards him, Desdemona leaped at it from behind. With one hand, she reached deep inside its gooey body and her fingers closed around its core. At the same time, she brought her other hand around and jammed her fistful of chicken bones into the empty space she’d just made.   
Stumbling back, she glanced down at the object in her hand. A ball of rat tails. Gross. She discarded it and wiped her hands on her cloak.

The Slimulacrum wavered, slumped, then straightened up and turned around. Desdemona peered at it, hesitantly, before cracking a narrow grin.

“Hi there,” she said, playfully, “You’re gonna come with us, okay?”

The Slimulacrum stood to attention and began to slide after Desdemona. Bertram followed, looking shocked.

“You replaced its core…”

“I couldn’t just make a slime from scratch, so we had to go the slightly more dangerous route.”

Bertram smirked, “My favourite.”

The trio soon reached the large iron doors again. Desdemona pointed towards the two guards.

“Can you go tell your buddies to take a walk with you? Just go on a patrol for half an hour or something. We’ll hold down the fort here.”

Desdemona’s guard nodded dutifully and marched in. Moments later, three Slimulacra trundled sluggishly past her and Bertram, leaving the storeroom unprotected.

“Excellent!” hissed Bertram, his face alight with excitement, “Now lets check out those doors!”

He scurried forwards and pressed his nose up against the iron doors, eagerly inspecting the locks. There were three in all, as well as two heavy bars keeping the doors shut. 

“We’ll need those out of the way first,” he mumbled, “Can you move them?”

Desdemona looked at the bars, dubiously.

“I can try…”

She approached the doors. The bars were fairly high up, which would make them difficult to get down quietly. Nevertheless, Desdemona set to work. She took off her cloak and laid it on the floor, then heaved one end of one bar off its hook. It was quite heavy, but she let it down as gently as she could, onto her cloak. Just as she’d hoped, it deadened the noise, and she quickly went to heave down the other end. While she dealt with the bars, Bertram was hard at work on the locks. 

“They’re alchemical locks,” he said, “They’re sealed by a specific concoction. I suppose they’re meant to confuse lock pickers, but they make it a whole lot easier on me!”

By the time Desdemona had carefully placed both bars on the floor and out of the way, Bertram had figured out the correct counter-substances to dissolve the sticking mechanisms in the locks. Moments later, the doors swung open, groaning slightly. Bertram opened them only far enough for him and Desdemona to slip through, then did so. Once inside, Bertram pulled a little stick out of his robes and scraped it across the ground. The tip lit up brightly, illuminating the chamber they’d entered.

Storeroom number four was a veritable cornucopia of alchemical supplies. Sacks upon sacks of powders were piled against walls, barrels of salts were stacked high, huge vats of oils stood simmering here and there with various warnings pasted onto them.

Bertram made a funny sort of cooing noise in the back of his throat and rushed in to pilfer to his heart’s content. Desdemona simply leaned against the wall to watch him. He was becoming less Bertram-y by the minute. His movements were turning increasingly twitchy, and his voice was slowly raising in pitch. He’d be changing back soon, she mused.

“Alright, that’s everything.”

Bertram scuttled to Desdemona’s side, gave her a gleeful little grin and stubbed out his light. Desdemona collected her cloak, and then they hastened back into the corridors and hurried to the stairs. Bertram threw another smoke-bomb over the railing, distracting the guards again. From there they ran all the way back to Plash’s classroom, Bertram speeding up as he went as if reaching their destination was becoming increasingly urgent.  
Apparently it was, as when Desdemona finally caught up with him, he was sprawled on the ground cackling, no longer Bertram Petrel.

He sat up, rubbing at his mask to presumably wipe his eyes.

“Oh!! That was wonderful, HEE HEE HEE!! I can barely walk for supplies! I’m— haha— fit to BURST!!!”

“Keep your voice down,” chided Desdemona, pursing her lips to avoid snickering herself, “You’ll attract the guards on this floor.”

She couldn’t help feeling elated. She hadn’t stolen anything, but the outing had been exhilarating, and her trick with the Slimulacrum guard… it had actually worked!

Plague Knight crawled towards her, scrambling clumsily up and clambering onto a seat at one of the desks nearest to her. 

“I knew you’d be useful!”

“Thanks,” she snorted, “Glad to be a valuable tool in your little kit.”

Plague Knight waved a finger, “Don’t be like that! The way you handled that guard was inspired. We’ll have to do this again sometime, heehee!”

Desdemona smiled a very small smile.

“…Sure.”

There was a little silence while Plague Knight carefully counted through his supplies, taking a second inventory just in case. Desdemona watched him, quietly.

“…So. Your transmutation potions. How do you make them so nice?”

“Oh yes,” Plague Knight looked up from a sack of marcasite, “You did want to know about that, heh. Well…” 

He put the sack back into his rather bulgy cloak, “Transmutation potions are all about purity! You need good, uncontaminated ingredients to make a good potion. And of course, you need a nice strong essence to build from.”

“So there’s a real Bertram out there?”

“Yep. But he’s not called Bertram. I forget his name. He really is a farm boy, though. I cured his mother’s cholera and he gave me a, heh, frightening amount of his blood for distillation. A pin drop would have done the trick, but he was, heh, a little excited to thank me.”

Desdemona could imagine why. It was difficult to find a good physician, especially amongst the peasant classes. 

“So the mask’s not just a fashion statement?”

Plague Knight shrugged, “It has many uses.”

With that enigmatic statement, he slid off his seat and waddled into the middle of the room. 

“Come here,” he said, “I want to do something.”

Desdemona languidly pushed off from the table she was leaning against and went to join him. No point in refusing. She was getting used to his sudden requests.

“Let’s try again,” he said, fervently, “That little experiment you were performing— the mouse skull one. Let’s try it again!”

Desdemona blinked, “The projection? But… It didn’t work…”

“But you were so close, HEE! And it was such a genius idea– Let’s make it happen, right now!!”

Desdemona felt a little overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. Nobody had ever reacted so positively to any of her ideas before…   
Relenting, she drew an alchemical circle on the ground, and Plague Knight unloaded some of his supplies to place them in their spots. Desdemona took one of the remaining chicken bones and placed it in the centre of the circle.  
The two young alchemists repeated Desdemona’s method, transforming the chicken bone into lead.

“Well, here goes nothing…” said Desdemona. Time to make the leap to gold.

“Let me tweak it a little,” said Plague Knight, leaning forwards, “I’ve been thinking about this all month. I have a feeling I know what was missing…”

He carefully added a slightly different combination of powders to the crucible, then let Desdemona place the chicken bone inside. She covered the bone in the powder, poured the liquid on top, mixed it carefully, then lit a match.   
She met Plague Knight’s eyes -or rather, lenses- over the flickering flame.

“Here goes nothing.”

“Hee!”

She dropped the match, then hid. There was a soft crackling noise. Desdemona peeked out from behind the folds of her cloak. 

“Oh… my… gods…”

The chicken bone gleamed in the dimness, a soft, buttery gold. 

“It worked… I-it actually… worked..!” Desdemona’s lips trembled, “I… You did it!”

“Me? Hee! You ninny– You did ninety-nine percent of the work!”

Desdemona shook her head wonderingly and picked up the tiny golden bone. It was satisfyingly heavy in her hand.

“This is why he’s so jealous,” cooed Plague Knight, “The old coot could never dream up something like this.”

Desdemona looked up.

“Huh?”

“I told you, following the rules isn’t quite how my academically-astounding alchemy worked. The old fart Ballard— he’s just a narcissistic old fool!”

Desdemona scowled, “He’s the greatest alchemist in Humeheath!”

“Only because he won’t let anyone surpass him,” retorted Plague Knight, “I’ve been observing this school for much longer than I’ve been attending it. That old man forces all his students to learn his autobiographical textbooks by wrote. Anything even slightly, hee, incendiary, and he stifles it in an instant! He was jealous of your talents the moment you stepped through the door!” 

“You… You’re lying. You’re just trying to butter me up.”

“Heeheehaha!! Butter you up? Me?! Oh, Ms. Mopes! Didn’t you wonder why all your clever ideas came to naught? He didn’t want you to bloom; he wanted to cut you like an ornamental hedge, keep you pruned down to his level so that you would leave this school yet another one of his perfect pupils!”

Desdemona’s heart thundered in her chest. Could it be true? Plague Knight could be lying, and he had plenty of motive to do so. And yet… It was common knowledge that any student of Ballard’s was considered a perfect protege, a shining example of his methods. Everyone complemented the old man on producing so many brilliant alchemists, all guaranteed to be up to his perfect standard…

“It was so easy to worm my way into his ‘extra special classes’, HEE!” continued Plague Knight, gleefully, “Play the part of the poor but talented farm boy who idolized him… Present him with the perfect opportunity! A fantastic feather in his cap! To turn this lead boy into a shining golden alchemist, HEEHEE! I’d be his star pupil… His Magnum Opus! So he snapped me up like the greedy toadvolt he is! And I was free to ransack this place for its first-rate chemicals! The staff might be subpar, but the materials certainly aren’t!” 

The more Desdemona thought about it, the more it rang true. Her stomach churned. 

“Why… didn’t you tell me this before?”

Plague Knight shrank, slightly, tapping his spindly fingers together guiltily, “It’s… harder to express myself while being Bertram, heh. I can’t say certain things straight-out. I built him to be that perfect student, so he couldn’t just blurt out the truth about his beloved teacher… I tried hinting though, heehee.”

Desdemona’s nails were biting into the palms of her hands.

“Let’s wreck him.”

“Eh?”

“Let’s smash his perfect little world to smithereens. You’re a first rate alchemist— you’ve created things laypeople can only dream of. Let’s make something that’ll blow his feeble old mind right out his hairy ears.”

Plague Knight practically contorted with glee.

“Oh, Desdemona!” he crooned, “You’re a delight! A lady after my own sulphurous heart, HEE!”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll help me rip this guy a new one?”

“Why not? This place is a sham. Let’s blow it sky high and loot the larders!”

Plague Knight began to cackle, and Desdemona couldn’t help but join in. She was full of a righteous, blazing fury. All these years she’d spent toiling away to achieve her dreams, and that old geezer had been actively holding her back. All those nights of doubt and suppressed tears and misery, all his fault. All the things she could have learned… the secrets she could have uncovered… All stolen from her by a greedy, self-absorbed wretch. 

But no more. If she had to become a criminal in the process, so be it. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this. She would throw him into the centre of her circle, and he would burn.


	6. Inflammation

The next day was spent in a fervent, foggy cloud. Despite her lack of sleep, Desdemona was too excited by last night’s revelation to be anything other than buzzing with furious energy. She went through the motions of mixing chemicals and taking notes, her mind crawling with heated, malignant thoughts. 

It had to be something spectacular. Something game-changing. Something never attempted before. If she and Plague Knight were going to take down professor Ballard, they needed to create something that was going to prove that they were the superior alchemists in every way.  
Excitement flooded her chest at the prospect. The chance to prove herself, explore depths unplumbed and revenge herself all at once was an intoxicating combination. She spent every moment she didn’t need to concentrate thinking about what they could concoct. 

Plague Knight himself, or rather, Bertram, was not in class that day. Desdemona assumed he was out doing whatever he did when he was missing. Probably locking up his supplies or causing mayhem and earning more little injuries. Not going home to the farm, at any rate—that little illusion had been firmly shattered.  
That day’s lesson was Sweet Vitriol, a highly flammable liquid with solvent and anesthetic properties. Desdemona put in only enough effort so as not to hurt herself with the ingredients, but as she worked, certain memories tugged at her mind. Frowning, she tried to focus. The scent in the air was bringing back her lessons with Bertram, but she couldn’t figure out why.  
Wondering idly over that particular conundrum distracted her until she went to drop her concoction off with the professor.  
Once again, Ballard happily praised her on a job well done. Desdemona could barely feign pride. Just looking at the old man made her stomach turn. She felt so humiliated, so used. She’d fallen for his glowing reputation and his kindly manner, looking up to him reverently as all the other students did.

But Plague Knight was right; the more she thought about his words, the more they made sense. Other than the scores of perfectly trained alchemists all in Ballard’s image, there was the fact that the library was full of professor Ballard’s own books, and the few tomes that weren’t his were ancient. There were no modern alchemical texts, nothing that might detail new advancements in the art. No wonder Desdemona had made so many mistakes; she had to come up with recipes and combinations in the dark, with only the barest of hints as to what might work and what might go disastrously wrong.

It hurt. It hurt knowing she’d been taken in like that. That she’d put all of her hopes and dreams into the hands of someone who only had his own interests in mind. Desdemona wondered, on the edge of her consciousness, if Plague Knight was the same. But that didn’t matter; if he wanted to use her, too, she’d use him first. Put Ballard in his place, then take off. Go somewhere else. Find books, find a new teacher, start learning, start creating, start growing.  
But she didn’t want Plague Knight to be like that. She wasn’t sure why, exactly. She barely knew him, and his motives were still highly suspect. But she wanted someone to be on her side, someone to truly share in her misery, her fury.  
And somehow, beyond the realm of common-sense, something in him seemed genuine. Something about the way he seemed to go out of his mind with joy at the thought of discovering something new. She felt the same way. That’s what she’d been trying to say to ‘Bertram’ that day, when he asked her why she wanted to study alchemy. That wild, bubbling, ear-splitting fountain of mirth that exploded out of him when he was most excited— that’s what she felt, inside. That’s what filled her, yet could never quite escape her, when she was practicing alchemy. 

After classes, Desdemona headed down to the mess hall to eat dinner. She didn’t feel very hungry, but she knew she had to eat something in case she wanted to stay up late and experiment. The mind did not run well on an empty stomach. Hmm… perhaps their special project could have something to do with eliminating hunger in a human being? No. Not flashy enough.  
Desdemona ordered more questionable stew and gulped it down without really tasting it. Half-formed ideas swam through her head, most of them involving acids or toxins. She simply felt noxious. It was not a nice feeling, exactly, but it gave her a sense of strength. She oozed poison, exhaled vitriol— she was strong and resolute and ready to do something. The only problem was that she didn’t know what to do, yet.

After dinner, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, lost in thought. Her musings, however, were not strong enough to blind her to a sight that made her flinch sharply when she opened her door.  
Standing there, perfectly still at the back of her room, was a Slimulacrum Guard. It stood there, seeping gently, completely immobile other than its constantly melting body. 

“What the..?”

She stayed in the doorway, unwilling to move any further into her room. Had she been caught? Was this an ambush? Had Plague Knight betrayed her? Panicked thoughts whirled around her brain, freezing her to the spot. But suddenly, the guard came to life, standing to attention and saluting.  
Desdemona stared at it uncomprehendingly, until something clicked in her head. The outing. The chicken bones.

“You… You’re…”

The guard’s gluey arm snapped back to its side. Desdemona took a few tentative steps towards it.

“Hey… Are you..?”

The guard simply stared back with its blank face. Desdemona hesitated a moment longer, before holding out her bag.

“Put this on my bed,” she instructed.

The guard looked at her bag, then gingerly took it. It proceeded to swallow it. Desdemona winced.

“No, no, give it back––“

The Slimulacrum coughed up her now very gooey bag. Damn it. The more important the animal part, the more intelligent the Slimulacrum. Chicken thigh bones weren’t the most high-grade core material. But this was a very interesting development. Desdemona now had a Slimulacrum at her disposal. 

“…I’m gonna call you Slimon,” she said, at length, “You got that? Your name is Slimon, now.”

The guard saluted again. Desdemona had no idea if it really understood or not.

She sighed and began to wipe her bag off on her cloak. She managed to get most of the gunk off, but the material was still quite wet. She’d have to dry it, but she didn’t feel like going to one of the fire-pits outside…

An idea suddenly struck her. Slimulacra. Flames. In her minds eye, she pictured a huge, burning creature, fully at her command. What an incendiary idea! Flashy and difficult! Nobody had ever tried to create a synthetic servant out of fire before, to the best of her knowledge. And so what if they had? It was certainly not something professor Ballard knew about. 

“Ohh Slimon! You brilliant blob of mucous! We’re going to make something wonderful,” she crooned, excitedly.

Slimon looked perplexed, unsure of what to do about words directed at him that weren’t an order. 

“Just go on patrol at lights out,” instructed Desdemona, “You must stay with the other guards until I summon you. Can you do that? Don’t let anyone know you report to me! Do you understand?”

Slimon seemed to comprehend this command. It saluted a third time, then stood perfectly still. To Desdemona’s pleasure, at exactly lights-out, it came to life again and trundled gooily out of her room. 

\- - - 

The next day Plague Knight was still not back. Desdemona burned to tell him about her ingeniously igneous idea, but she had no idea when he would return… or if he would return. Instead, she decided to work on fleshing the concept out more. She’d need to think about the logistics, see if this pipe dream was actually feasible.  
She decided to head to the library. Sure, she’d already determined the place to be pretty much useless, now, but there might be some basic principals that might set her on the right track. She didn’t know what else to do, and she had plenty of time between classes. 

When she arrived at the library, she pulled down as many books as she could find that might contain a morsel of information on creating a living creature out of flames. She was just placing The Master of Simplicity on top of her stack when she heard hushed voice from behind a shelf ahead of her.

“…I didn’t think it was possible. I mean she’s like, made of stone.”

“Yeah. But I guess even the cleverest alchemist can melt stone like ice.”

“Tch. Clever. He’s just a teacher’s pet.”

Desdemona tensed. Were they talking about Bertram? And…

“What’s she see in him?”

“Who knows, maybe she’s sucking up.”

“Mopes? Sucking up? No way. She’s like, royalty, isn’t she?”

“I think so? I dunno; it’s just as likely as her actually having a crush on him.”

“But she’s always cornering him by the supply cupboards.”

“Maybe she’s bullying him.”

“No way, he looks too happy when she does it. I mean, unless he’s some kinda masochist. But I swear I heard them saying something about ‘tonight’. Oh crap— Are they hooking up?!”

“Why do you care so much? Mopey Mopes finally met her match. So what?” 

“It’s just— she’s blown off literally every single person who’s ever even made a passing advance at her! What’s he got that I d-– I mean, what’s he got?” 

“Gods, you’re such a loser. Maybe she’s just into goofy farm boys with freckles and fantastic Fortis.” 

“Ugh… He called mine Aqua Weak-is on his first day. What an overconfident little hayseed.”

Desdemona stood there in disbelieving silence. The other students -at least these two- thought she had a crush on Bertram?! It was momentarily unthinkable as to why they’d ever get that impression. But then, she supposed she had a certain reputation. She was, as just so recently called, Ms. Mopey Mopes. She was like a stone statue; beautiful to look at, but useless to speak to. She supposed any amount of conversation with Bertram past unimpressed, monosyllabic retorts might look like her version of open adoration.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter what the other students thought of her. She had business to attend to. She carried her stack of books to the front desk to sign them out, conspicuously swanning past the two whispering boys with an upturned nose, just to spook them. It worked, as usual, and her sudden and intimidating presence caused the pair to jump in a little panic and drop their books.

\- - -

Lunch the next day was spent in deep study. Desdemona sat at the end of a table, chewing on bread and butter and carefully perusing her stack of library books. Just as she’d suspected, there wasn’t much useful information that she didn’t already know. She sighed in frustration and closed the tome she was currently on.

‘Alright, Mona. Don’t think too hard about this,’ she thought to herself, ‘In its simplest form, this creature should be just like a Slimulacrum, only we swap out slime for flames. There needs to be core and a base for its body. But fire isn’t as corporeal as slime… It isn’t even corporeal at all… Ergh, okay, this is going to be tricky…’

“Ehem! Studying up?”

Desdemona jumped. Bertram was sliding into the seat across from her, smiling that eerily vacant smile. 

“You’re back. I had an idea.”

“Oh good,” Bertram went to lean forwards in interest, then winced.

Desdemona frowned. “You okay?”

“Oh, uhhh, yes,” Bertram’s smile turned sheepish, and he began playing with the strap of his bag as he usually did when he was nervous. Desdemona noted that he wasn’t carrying it over his shoulder.

“Don’t lie,” she sighed, “You got screwed up out there, again, didn’t you?”

Bertram cleared his throat, “That idea you were talking about?”

Desdemona sighed again, exasperation growing. 

“Walk with me.”

She packed her books away and then left the mess hall with Bertram at her side. He moved gingerly, holding his bag under his arm. As he went, he removed a small, flat bottle from his cloak and uncorked the top. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, his eyelids fluttering as he tucked it back. Desdemona caught a whiff of the stuff as he stowed it. Sweet Vitriol..?  
Suddenly, Desdemona realized the answer to her earlier question. That smell; the smell in the bottle, the smell in class. It was Bertram’s smell. Plague Knight’s smell. Faintly on him, all the time. How often did he inhale the stuff? She could only imagine he was using it for its pain-numbing properties. Desdemona shook her head, trying to push away the feeling of worry that was gathering in the pit of her stomach. She dragged her mind back to more important topics. 

“First of all, I should tell you that that Slimulacrum I re-cored the other night? It’s still loyal to me.”

Bertram’s smile became a little brighter, “Ooh! That’s quite useful!”

“Yeah… anyway, it inspired me. What if we made a Slimulacrum. A huge one. Only, it was made of fire?”

Bertram blinked. “Fire? That’ll be difficult… Making sure it keeps a stable form will be very complicated. Besides, it’ll need an inordinate amount of fuel. Slime lasts for pretty much ever, but flames can go out in an instant…”

“We could use stuff that burns for a long time,” suggested Desdemona, “We can develop a formula for a long-burning core. That might be our first order of business.”

“Hmm, good idea. How about we start with pitch? That stuff goes on forever.”

“Ugh. It’ll take ages to distill, though.”

“Then we’ll have plenty of time to puzzle out the other intricacies.”

Desdemona smirked, slightly. Her ugly mood from the last few days had disappeared. She loved bouncing ideas off of Bertram. It felt so good to have someone just run with her hypotheses, countering and building until something worthwhile formed. 

“Where should we make the pitch?”

Bertram stroked his chin, thoughtfully. Desdemona noticed that he ran his finger from his Adam’s apple to the tip of his chin, the way Plague Knight stroked his mask. 

“I think it would be best if I did it at… the farm, since there’s nowhere we can do it safely here.”

“Hmm, good call. Ah…”

The two had finally reached their destination. 

“Hmm?” Bertram looked up, curiously.

They were standing in front of a counter set into the wall. It resembled the supply shop’s counter, except that there was no curtain separating the back room from the customers. The inside of the room beyond the counter was clearly visible. Shelves holding dozens of stoppered flasks sat against the walls, and little cots were lined up beside them. The man at the counter looked up from some papers he was studying. He was youngish, and bespectacled, and he wore the colours of a Healer.

“Hello there. Is something the matter?”

“No,” replied Desdemona, airily, “Just wanted to buy a little pick-me-up. I feel an accident coming on.”

The man raised an eyebrow but stood up obligingly and came back with a small bottle full of red liquid. Desdemona handed him a fistful of coins in return, and took the bottle.

“Thanks!”

She turned around and marched back down the hallway. As soon as they were out of view, she shoved the bottle into Bertram’s hands.

“Drink it.”

“What?”

“Whatever’s making you hobble around like an old man needs tending to right away if we’re going to get anything done.”

“I… Desdemona, I can make healing tonics myself, you know. You didn’t have to spend money on me.”

“You need to take care of this sooner than later. Whenever you make your own health potion isn’t soon enough. So drink it. Think of it as a bonus for being such a dedicated teacher to me.”

Bertram was silent for a few moments, slowly turning slightly pink, before reluctantly unstoppering the bottle and swigging down its contents. 

“Hahhh…”

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stowed the empty bottle in his bag. Red flowed underneath his skin, staining his veins momentarily as the brew’s effects swept through his body.

“…Wow, that stuff works fast. I feel better already. But I only had one or two broken ribs…”

Desdemona resisted the urge to smack her forehead.

“So,” she muttered, reining in her annoyance, “You’ll take care of the pitch back at… your place. I guess I should start thinking about how to build a core that’ll be able to withstand a large amount of heat. After all, I don’t think the simulacrum will work if its brain fries.”

Bertram nodded, “Definitely. Oh! And we should name it! All Great Works have impressive names. Slimulacra are made of slime. This one’s made of fire, therefor, it’s a…”

He stroked his chin again, thinking, “…Flameulacrum… Incini… Combusti… Hmm…”

“How about ‘Inflammitation,” suggested Desdemona, “Like inflammable-imitation?”

Bertram grinned, “Excellent! Our project has a name!”

It was a satisfying feeling. Even if they weren’t very far along, things felt like they were making their way forwards. Falling into place. Progressing.  
Desdemona and Bertram left the corridor near the medical area and walked back towards the mess hall. As they went, Desdemona noticed a few students staring at them. She suddenly remembered her little encounter at the library. She snorted, covering her mouth with her sleeve. Bertram looked up.

“What is it?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

“You don’t laugh without a good reason, Desdemona. What’s got you snickering so hard?”

Desdemona sighed. She noticed he’d begun calling her by her given name. That was sure to inflame her classmates’ whispers, if they heard him.

“There’s a rumour going around. About us.”

“Oh? What sort of rumour?”

“That I’ve got a crush on you, or something.”

Bertram choked back a giggle, “Oh really?! And their evidence to support such an outlandish claim?”

“You might not have noticed, but I don’t usually… talk. To people. Ever,” replied Desdemona, folding her arms, “The fact that I’ve said more than two words to you makes them think I must have a thing for you.”

Bertram rolled his eyes, “Such impressive deductive reasoning. Well, Desdemona? Do you, in fact, have a crush on the lowly Bertram Petrel?”

Desdemona gave the ghost of a smirk before looking stony again and shrugging, “Nope. You’re not my type. I like people with a little more… spark.”

Bertram’s half-teasing smile vanished, and he blinked at her with a look of bewilderment. Desdemona ignored his odd reaction and adjusted her cloak.

“Anyway. Who cares. They can think whatever they want. Let’s plan another meeting, okay? Same place, what time?”

“Uhhh… Tonight will do,” replied Bertram, shaking his head, “Now that my ribs are back in place I should be nimble enough to make the trip.”

Desdemona tried not to roll her eyes. He really needed to take better care of himself. But that wasn’t her problem… really…


	7. Incantation

As the weeks wore on, Desdemona and Bertram planned more and more clandestine meetings. During the second meeting, Bertram happily informed Desdemona that he had successfully begun brewing up a whole vat of pitch for them to use.

“It’ll be, heh, marvellous,” he said, gesticulating wildly, “We could even add, heheh, something to give it a little extra oomph! But we should figure that out soon…”

His form twisted as he spoke, narrowing and shrinking. Desdemona watched as his face elongated and his skin -or what could be seen of it- paled. 

“You changed back,” she said, languidly organizing her supplies.

“Oh! So I did, heehee! Guess it’s pretty late.”

The meetings always started with Bertram and ended in Plague Knight. By this time, Desdemona was becoming used to the strange transformation and Plague Knight’s unusual company. His constant crazed laughter, while annoying, was sort of beginning to grow on her. 

“I was thinking the core could be something relatively hardy. We might not be able to create an internal cooling system, so something like a skull could be our best bet. Not quite as important as a brain or a heart, but still pretty vital. It’ll be smart enough.”

“Mm! But bones can still be burnt to ash,” countered Plague Knight, “What shall we do about that?”

“We could… prepare some kind of buffer. A protective casing,” Desdemona ran her finger down the book of alchemical substances she had with her, “Antimony’s a good fire-retardant. We could start with that.”

“Excellent! I can bring some from my stores…”

The rest of the meeting passed productively as the two young alchemists drew up plans for their core’s safety lining. 

“We should find a suitable skull, too… I’ve got a lot of mouse skulls, but they’re very small.”

“How many do you have?”

“…About fifteen.”

“Hee! Why don’t we combine them all? You know what they say- Fifteen heads are better than one!”

Plague Knight cackled to himself over his little joke. Desdemona rolled her eyes. 

“Terrible.”

“That’s me! The great and terrible Plague Knight! HEE!”

He drew himself up into what he probably thought was an intimidating pose. Desdemona swallowed a giggle.

“About that. I kind of get the Plague angle, what with the doctor’s mask and all. But why knight? You’re not wearing any armour… that I can see. And I highly doubt you’ve been knighted. I’m also pretty sure your first name isn’t Plague, and your last name isn’t Knight.”

Plague Knight settled back down and tapped the tip of his beak.

“You’ve never heard of a capital K Knight?”

“No..?”

“Anyone brave enough to take up the monicker will be challenged,” replied Plague Knight fervently, “But that’s to be expected. Only the best at what they do dare to call themselves Knight. It is a symbol of their expertise! You don’t need armour or a battalion… You just need the skill to prove your worth! And I have more than enough of that, heehee!”

“So it’s a vanity title,” Desdemona summed up.

“Justified vanity!” insisted her prideful little pal.

“And just how many Capital K Knights are there, out there, exactly?” she asked. 

Plague Knight shrugged, “I don’t know! I’ve never met another one face-to-face. …Well, at least not one deserving of the title, haha.”

Desdemona sighed.

“It must be nice to just be able to change your name at the drop of a hat.”

Plague Knight cocked his head, “Oh? Would you like to be a Knight, too, Desdemona? Heehee! My name’s already taken!”

Desdemona rolled her eyes, “No, I’m fine. And besides, the only time I’ve ever spread disease was when I had the chickenpox.”

She looked back down at her book, frowning.

“…I’m just not thrilled with my current title, that’s all.”

Plague Knight sketched a few more lines onto the blueprint before him, thoughtfully. 

“You don’t like Desdemona Mopes?”

“Lady Desdemona Mopes,” she corrected, glumly, “My parents are… pretty high up on the chain of command.” 

“That explains your delightfully deep pockets!”

“Yup… I’ve never really adhered to Noblesse Oblige, though. I’d rather be…” she trailed off. 

Plague Knight shuffled forwards a little.

“Rather be…?” 

“…Just. Mona,” she admitted, “I hate Desdemona. It’s so clunky and pompous. I’d rather just be Mona the alchemist. I don’t need any fancy titles— I just want to be… w-who I want to be…”

She was getting dangerously close to showing some deep, personal feelings. She stumbled over her last few words and clamped her mouth shut again, feeling anxious. ‘Shut up, shut up– Who cares about that?’

“Just Mona it is, then,” said Plague Knight, blithely, startling Desdemona out of her worries, “And I’d say you’re already an alchemist.”

She stared. A drop of electric warmth replaced the tight feeling in her chest. Mona… she could be Mona, with him.

\- - -

“Alright, check this out.”

Meeting number five. Mona held out a small stoppered beaker that she’d brought with her, “Antimonial slime. Let’s slap it on something and see if it works!”

Bertram grinned and rooted around in his bag before pulling out a piece of paper. He folded the paper up into a little square and then handed it over.

“Paper burns easily. Let’s see if your concoction is up to the task!”

Mona took the folded paper and began coating it in her goeey greenish solution.

“Where’d you get the slime?”

“Borrowed some from Slimon.”

“Is it still hanging around?”

“Yeah… I took a little of his body to call him with if I ever need him, but I used a bit more for this. I don’t think he minds. Er, it minds.”

Bertram chuckled, “You’re getting attached, aren’t you.”

“Well, maybe someday I’ll have real minions to think about,” Mona replied, defensively, “Good to get in the practice now, right?”

“I suppose so…”

Once finished drenching the paper, Mona placed it into a pair of tongs. Bertram lit a match and held it directly under the paper. The flame licked the underside, trying to pierce the grainy slime. The gooey substance resisted valiantly, though the outer layer began to harden and crack. Bertram grinned.

“Not bad!”

“Yeah,” Mona let the paper fall back into her hand, then hissed and dropped it.

“Ouch! It’s really hot!”

Bertram shook his head, “We’ll have to improve on it, then. Extreme heat probably won’t be good for the skulls. And I didn’t like the look of that flaking…”

Mona nodded, waving her hand. Her glove would prevent any vitriolic substances from harming her skin, but heat still managed to seep through. Maybe she’d upgrade the protective capabilities of her gloves while she was working on the slime. And her cloak, while she was at it.

“Thanks for the antimony,” she said, letting the paper cool before picking it up and stuffing it into her bag, “How much did you steal from the stores, anyway?”

“Quite a bit,” replied Bertram, “But I had a little already. The stuff’s rare, but useful. Especially in my old profession…”

“Your old profession..? Oh. So, you really were a doctor?”

“…Sort of,” mumbled Bertram evasively.

“So antimony’s medicinal too, huh? I thought it was mainly used for fireproofing stuff. What’s it cure?”

“It doesn’t really cure anything,” replied Bertram, “It’s an emetic. It makes you vomit. A lot.”

“Oh. Gross.”

“Oh! And then there’s the antimonial pill, of course!”

“The antimonial pill?”

Bertram grinned a wobbly grin, “It’s… Heh, it’s, uhhh–“

He seemed a little reluctant to explain. Mona planted her fists on her hips.

“It’s..?”

“It’s a little pill, uhh, you swallow it, and it cleans the pipes, as it were, heheh.”

Mona scrunched up her nose, “Okay…”

“And then, haha, well. It’s also known as the Everlasting Pill for a reason. ‘Cause, after it’s done doing what it does, you… pass it. And then, heh, you can use it again! As many times as you want!”

Mona squawked.

“Ugh! What the hell?!”

“I know!” Bertram howled with laughter, “It’s horrible! Heehee! Just about as bad as using leeches to balance the sanguine humour!”

“I thought that worked?”

“Not if you use the same leeches over and over again. That’ll get you more sick, depending on who used them before. The leeches, they swallow the blood, but if the blood’s full of… full of the little spores that cause the disease, then the leech becomes a vector… I’ve researched it quite extensively…”

Bertram sighed, rubbing his eyes, which were slowly changing into glassy lenses, “Really, most diseases can be prevented by clean water and consistent bathing. Have you been keeping up with your hygiene, Mona?”

Mona raised an eyebrow, “Don’t make me call you a pervert.”

“I’m just asking after your health! I am— h-heh, I know a lot about medicine, after all!”

“I’m perfectly healthy,” she replied, flatly, “And my bathing schedule is no concern of yours.”

Plague Knight tapped his fingers together, “Heh, didn’t mean to, heh, overstep any boundaries… I’m not some kinda creep! Hee, I just— ”

Mona shrugged, turning away to hide a mischievous little grin, “It’s fine. Let’s just get back on task.”

\- - -

“Mona, we’re going to need to do another supply run, tonight,” said Bertram on their eighth meeting. 

Mona looked up from her tiny, cramped diagrams. The project was really moving along, now. They’d managed to tentatively string together all the necessary components, creating a fully outlined end goal. Most of the hypothetical problems had been solved, and just last meeting, they’d combined the mouse skulls into one large construct.

“Hmm?”

“Just to the nearest storeroom. I need to pick up a few components to make some more Nitrum Flammans for the body.”

Mona stood up. 

“I’ll call Slimon.”

She drew a quick circle and withdrew a small vial from her bag. She opened the vial and let a tiny drop of slime fall out of it, into the centre of the circle. After completing the process, she wiped the circle away. As usual, a few moments later, there was a faint squelching and a Slimulacrum guard marched into the empty classroom. 

“Hello, Slimon! We’re going to go to the store room on this floor,” said Mona, clearly and firmly, “I want you to keep on the lookout, okay?”

Slimon saluted, in an almost cheery manner.

“Thanks, Slimon!” called Bertram, playfully. The guard gave a curt nod, then turned to go.

Bertram pouted, “He likes you better than me.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s my core. My guard.”

Bertram shrugged, then crept out into the hallway. Mona followed him, quietly.

They’d noticed the steady increase in security, as of late. The Academy seemed to be catching on to their clandestine activities. But they were still one step ahead. Always.

The nearest storeroom was at the other end of the building, but the two were confident that their trek would be uneventful. And so it was. Slimon dutifully and surreptitiously followed them, passing by his fellow guards without arousing their suspicions. Mona and Bertram became one with the shadows in the halls, staying out of sight.   
When they finally reached the storeroom, Mona set to work on the locks. Bertram had showed her a few useful tricks, and by now she was a natural at deciphering alchemical seals. It just went to show how much difference a good teacher made. Mona felt she’d learned more from ‘Bertram’ in the last few weeks than she’d learned at the Academy in three years.

“Go in, I’ll keep watch out here,” said Mona.

Bertram gave her a little salute, then slipped into the storeroom. Mona stood outside, keeping a careful eye on the corridor. Slimon had lured the guards in this hallway away as usual, but one never knew when another guard might come sliding in.

“Ah, Mona?”

Bertram poked his head out the door a few moments later, “Could you go to the nearest classroom and fetch me a beaker, real quick? I don’t have enough containers to carry all the components.”

“...Alright, but stay out of sight,” she warned. 

Bertram ducked back into the chamber and Mona crept off to find the nearest classroom. Professor Langlog’s class was nearby, but history teachers didn’t really keep beakers with them. Professor Twinman’s room was right next to his, though. Twinman taught the sophomores, and often got into arguments with Langlog because the loud explosions from his classroom would interrupt Langlog’s speeches. 

Mona watched the guard patrolling Twinman’s corridor carefully, then ducked into Twinman’s room when it wasn’t looking. Safely inside, she took a quick look around. The class was gloomy, but she could vaguely make out rows of desks and a strange, bulky contraption at the front of the room. She ignored these, located the equipment cupboards, and hastened towards them. She selected a beaker and almost turned to leave with it when there was a loud, angry squeak. A rat poked its nose out from the space where her beaker had been.

“Shoo,” muttered Mona, waving her hand at the rat. 

She’d never been afraid of the little things in her life, and she wasn’t going to start now, no matter how much this one wanted her to. The rat turned indignantly and scampered off. Almost as if it knew what it was doing, it knocked another beaker off the shelf. Mona flinched and shot out an arm to catch the falling glassware. 

Phew. Crisis averted. Until she heard a loud clatter. She whirled around to see the shadow of the rat scampering away, having knocked over a piece of the large object on the head table. Whatever it was rolled slowly across the floor, and then…

BOOM!

An explosion lit the classroom, enveloping the room in a sudden harsh, white light. Mona barely had time to wrap herself in her cloak before it hit. Momentarily blinded, she stumbled, heat and shrapnel bouncing off her cloak. Thank goodness she’d increased its protective capabilities the other day, she thought, otherwise she’d be melty block of swiss cheese. But now she had a bigger problem.   
Creeping through the wreckage of the classroom, Mona thrust her head out the door. The sound of Slimulacra guards was building from both ends of the halls. As she watched, a green shape rounded the corner.  
Mona threw herself back around the door and backed up. Her heart was jack hammering in her chest and her knuckles were white as they still gripped the folds of her cloak.  
There were no windows in professor Twinman’s class. No other doors. She was trapped. She supposed she could hide, but what difference would that make? The guards would search the classroom and find her. Bertram was probably scurrying for his life to safety. She didn’t blame him; he’d change back by the time they caught him, and then it would really be over for him.

‘It’s alright, Mona, just calm down,’ she thought, swallowing, ‘They’ll catch you, and then what? What’s the worst that can happen? They’ll expel you. That won’t be so bad. Not bad at all. You’re going to be fine. You’ll just return home in disgrace, but it wasn’t like your standing back there was much good in the first pl––‘

Another explosion rocked the corridor. Mona flinched. What on earth..?   
The squelching of the Slimulacra guards had halted. They must have been distracted by the second explosion. But where..?   
Mona peeked out the door again. Smoke was filling the corridor. Suddenly, a shape emerged from the smoke, heading straight at her.

“Grab on!”

Tiny fingers curled around her wrist, and then suddenly she was running. Plague Knight’s hood bounced in front of her. He turned his head, exposing the tip of his beak.

“HEE!! What the heck happened in there? I just wanted a beaker!!”

“Rat set off an explosion,” gasped Mona, catching up to his pace, “What– What are you doing?”

“Making an escape, dummy! Heehee! What does it look like?”

“But––“

Plague Knight didn’t seem to be looking where he was going as he ran. He yanked her around one corner, then the next, moving in as close to a serpentine motion as he could in the confines of the halls. Mona could hear the Slimulacra oozing after them. Sharp clangs rang out against the stone walls; they were sounding an alarm.

They’d all been after her. And then Plague Knight had burst a smoke bomb, and now they were both in danger. Why? Why hadn’t he just run..?

“Ahh– Uh oh!”

Plague Knight scrambled to a halt and slipped, nearly tumbling over. Mona tugged him back into a standing position. To her surprise, he was much lighter than even his short stature implied. Ahead was a wall. They’d hit a dead end. 

Plague Knight turned around, reaching into his robes, but came up empty handed.

“Damn! That was the last of my smoke bombs!”

The little alchemist turned defiantly to face the place the oncoming hoard would soon be, bracing himself. Amongst the oncoming gurgles, there was an even more terrifying sound. Footsteps. Human ones.   
Mona’s eyes swept the corridor feverishly. It couldn’t end now. Not like this. There had to be a way out. And then she spotted it. A door just a few feet away, and the only one in the corridor. 

“This way!”

She grabbed Plague Knight and practically carried him towards the door. She threw it open just seconds before the wave of guards hit, thrusting Plague Knight and herself through in a leap.

 

They were suddenly in cool, wet darkness. The next moment, a horrible javelin of pain shot through Mona’s body.  
The garden gate they’d just jumped through creaked open and Mona staggered forwards a few feet before collapsing onto dewey grass. She could hear Plague Knight scrambling around behind her, squawking.

“What–– Where–– How?!”

Mona’s skin was feverishly hot and the world was spinning. She felt like she was going to hurl any second. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth against the pain, waiting for it to subside.

“Mona..? Mona?”

Plague Knight’s voice seemed to come from very far away. 

“Mona– Heh, what– What’s the matter?”

The grass crunched as Plague Knight’s footsteps drew near. She felt his hands on her shoulder.

“Jewel…” she croaked. 

“What? Heh– Mona, w-what’s wrong– You’re pale as a ghost!”

Mona made an effort to roll onto her side. 

“Jewel, what… colour is… it…”

Plague Knight shuffled around her. She felt is beak graze her forehead and his hands fumble with the jewel at her breast.

“Don’t take it–“ she rasped, “Just… look…”

“It’s hard to see– Hang on.”

There was a fumbling sound, then a few scratches. Mona’s eyelids were assaulted with red light that made her turn her face away.

“…It’s… purple? Sort of, heh, lilac? I think? Why? Are you alright? Did a guard hit you with something? Where does it hurt? Heh– I can heal it, don’t worry–”

“No… I’ll be fine… Just… Let me rest.”

Plague Knight sounded as if he was going to say something else, then fell silent. In the absence of his voice, the noises of the grounds slowly faded into Mona’s ears. Crickets chirping. The wind whispering. Night birds calling mournfully. The pain ebbed, slowly. 

Eventually, Mona was strong enough to open her eyes and sit up. She felt shaky and weak, like she’d come down with an illness, but the horrible agony had gone away. Plague Knight moved beside her.

“That door… It didn’t lead out here,” he murmured, “…You took us here. Heh. You’re a magic-user, aren’t you?”

Mona wrapped her arms around her knees.

“…Don’t get used to it. I can use magic, but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Mona supposed she ought to tell him. Just so he didn’t get the wrong idea about her powers. He couldn’t count on her doing that again, if they were in trouble. Especially now.  
Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness. They seemed to be next to the gardens to the east of the Academy. The garden gate was open, and there were scuff marks in the dirt where they’d landed. Mona sighed, quietly. 

“My family’s pretty well-endowed with magical power, so it made sense that I’d inherit, too,” she murmured, “But… I was born under an ill omen. Something went… wrong. My magic went wrong. The court Astrologist said that it would grow too big for my mortal flesh to handle, consume me from the inside out. My parents enchanted this jewel to keep me from imploding, but if I physically use any magic, it’ll weaken the jewel’s spell. The weaker it is, the darker it gets. It used to be red.”

She leaned back, slightly, unhooking her arms from around her legs and instead propping herself up against the grass, “If it turns blue, I’m toast.”

She spoke with a calm sort of bitterness. She often wondered why her parents had bothered to save her. If they’d really cared so much about her, why hadn’t they actually listened to her? Looked at her? Treated her as anything other than an especially difficult lump of clay that refused to be molded into something they liked? But she’d come to terms with their feelings and her existence long ago. She was living a borrowed life, one that could end any minute if she made a stupid mistake. Or some kind of idiotic attempt at heroism…

“…Heh. Y-you fool… Why did you teleport us out here, then?” croaked Plague Knight. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Mona shot, scowling, “Sometimes it just sort of happens. I didn’t want you to get caught… And I guess I just wanted it so badly that I made it come true.”

“…Heh… I’m not worth that kind of risk.”

Mona looked over at Plague Knight. This was the most subdued she’d ever seen him. His beak was thrust downwards and his fingers were curled tightly into the folds of his robes.

“Well, you risked your freedom for me, so I guess I thought I’d return the favour,” she mumbled, nonchalantly, “We’re partners in this little project. I can’t finish it without you.”

There was another long silence. 

“Heh. You’re a dangerous lady, Mona.”

Mona snorted, “Mostly to myself.”

Plague Knight snickered, perking up, “I’ll say. A magic-user, practicing alchemy? That’s a recipe for disaster.”

Mona frowned, “What do you mean?”

Plague Knight shuffled a little closer. The moonlight reflected eerily off his lenses.

“Magic and alchemy are like oil and water. …Actually, they’re more like fire and black powder. Performing an alchemical process on a magically endowed item is incredibly dangerous, and the results are unstable at best. I tried projecting a cursed piece of silver, once. Hee! It nearly blew my head off!”

“Huh…”

“Apparently it is possible to get the two Arts to cooperate, but only the most historically powerful alchemists have ever succeeded. Hee! I’m glad I never suggested using a transmutation potion on you with that jewel in place,” Plague Knight ran a hand over his beak, and looked up at Mona, “That wouldn’t have been pretty, heehee!”

Mona was feeling much better now. Despite the grim reminder of her own fragile mortality, the pain and nausea were gone, and her heart rate had stabilized. Plague Knights’ usual blithe nature was surprisingly comforting as well. 

“Well, I think we ought to get back inside. Go back to our rooms and pretend we were asleep the whole time.”

Plague Knight chuckled, “Good idea! Heeheehee!! They’ll be so disappointed! The great Plague Knight and Mona the Alchemist slip through their fingers yet again!!”

Mona snickered, covering her mouth with her hand, “Oh, so I’m getting billed alongside The Great Plague Knight too, huh?”

“Well, HEE, you did say we were partners!”

“Oh, yeah… Guess I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Quick and big thanks to 'Serein' for the comment! I do love hearing feedback/opinions/reactions to my works, so thank you so much! 
> 
> I got a little indulgent in this chapter with all the references to Antimony; I've noticed that not many people know what it actually does, in real life. I just wanted to give a good example of its actual purposes... though, while the antimonial pill is also real, it's also kind of an anachronism. ...at the same time, piping, electricity and airships seem to exist in SK's middle ages, so maybe its not..?
> 
> Anyway, hope you're all enjoying the story so far! Just three more chapters to go... and then maybe an epilogue. Thanks for reading! --TS


	8. Laceration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning- there's blood in this chapter. Just thought I'd mention, for the squeamish!

Plague Knight was gone again, the next day. 

Mona wished he’d tell her when he went off on these little outings, as it meant she couldn’t check in with him on the project. Even more annoying was the fact that she could never be sure of when he’d be back. Sometimes he was gone for only one day, and other times three or four. And his returns were just as unannounced as his departures.  
But oh well. No time to worry about that. The project needed her attention. 

It was useful to have Slimon by her side as she worked diligently on developing the different components of the Inflammitation. He wasn’t magnificently intelligent, and he couldn’t speak, but she much preferred his company to that of the others students. He was sort of like a pet. A pet who helped her complete her alchemical experiments.  
He was especially appreciated when Plague Knight was gone, as he was today. At first, she had mainly used him to help her sneak around at night when she needed supplies or equipment. But as time went on, Mona had begun updating his core. Over the course of the meetings, she had begun to add in new parts. A chicken liver to go with the bones, one afternoon, and then a cow’s eye the next. Sneaking into the kitchen and stealing offal was a dirty job, but the results were useful. Soon, Slimon was a fairly dependable lab partner, even carrying out simple alchemical processes alongside her. The smarter he’d become, the funnier Plague Knight had considered him. 

“Heehee! He’s almost a person! What are you feeding him, Mona?”

Slimon seemed to be developing something of a personality as well. His face, originally a featureless plane of slime somewhat resembling a helmet, had now taken on a clear Bascinet shape, complete with gooey plume on top.  
Mona warned him not to display this feature outside her room.

“I don’t want you getting caught. For my sake and yours.”

Slimon had nodded, and this time Mona had been sure he really understood the meaning of her words. Mona was beginning to find the Slimulacrum something of a comforting presence. 

Mona spent the day working on the additional flammable materials that would be mixed with the pitch. She’d rush back to her room between classes to add a little of this and a little of that to her collection of beakers and flasks. Slimon watched over her room in the meantime, making sure nobody went snooping into her business.  
So far, nobody had tried, but there was always a possibility, especially with the teachers looking into the thefts. The next day, in fact, Mona caught professor Plash whispering to professor Twinman about the incident the other evening.

“Smoke pellets. Powerful ones. I analyzed the residue on the walls. Never seen anything like it! The technique is impressively advanced. You don’t think our mystery thief could be..?”

“No, no, not possible. According to the village guards, that pesky bomb-bird has been hiding out in the mountains. Besides, we’d know if he were here!”

Mona hastened away, biting her lip to stop herself from grinning. Fools! If only they knew! What did they think they could do, anyway? Did they assume they’d be able to easily spot him in a crowd? Did they think he’d just stroll in, flashing his doctor mask and giggling up a storm? Or else, did they think their clever, teacher-eyes could simply ferret him out after decades of alchemical experience, disguises be damned? Ha. They didn’t know a thing. 

Mona told Slimon about it when she returned to her room in the evening. He probably didn’t understand the specifics of her anecdote, but he could tell his mistress was amused, and he bobbed up and down with mirth alongside her.  
The evening’s business was creating an adhesive grout with which to fortify the core. Mona snuck out to professor Plash’s classroom to synthesize the stuff, as she needed a little more room than her personal chamber provided. She brought a sample of the flammable substances she’d worked on the evening prior to test against her creation. If the two didn’t react well together, she’d have to change the recipe.  
They couldn’t afford to be slapdash about this; every component needed to be strong and work together perfectly. This was a show of their power, their ingenuity; it was their Magnum Opus! …Or at least, one of many. Mona hoped that the Inflammitation wasn’t the best thing she could create. She was sure she’d be terribly proud once it was completed, but she didn’t want to peak there. There were so many other experiments to conduct, so many hypotheses to explore, so many methods to be discovered!  
The Inflammitation was just the beginning of the wonderful journey she was about to embark on, and it needed to set the standard for all that would succeed it. 

The grout seemed to react fairly well to the flammable solutions, but Mona would need to take time to test its strength. She painted up several slips of paper with the substance and dropped it into a beaker of each flammable solution. For the next three days, she checked in with it to see if the paper was still safely intact.  
To her great pleasure, it seemed to be holding up just fine.

 

A week had now gone by since Plague Knight had left for parts unknown. Mona firmly quelled the little worried voice in the back of her mind and settled diligently down to work on a prototype for the core of the Inflammitation. She sat in her cramped little room, carefully fortifying the structure of a handful of goat ribs that would stand in for the skull-construct she and Plague Knight had put together. Slimon stood at attention by the door. 

“Fifteen heads… are better than one… hee hee hee…” Mona muttered under her breath as she painted layers of her strong adhesive grout onto her collection of ribs. “What a dummy.”

It took her some time to fully seal the thing into a compact orb. She imagined it would take much longer with the mouse skulls, as they were more complicated in shape and also larger. But once she had finally finished the task, she drew an alchemical circle on the floor and carefully placed the proto-core into the centre. Sprinkling down a few powders, she performed the process of quick-drying the sphere so that she would be able to test its strength faster. She’d managed to develop a process for quick-drying that didn’t harm a substance in any way. No cracks or fractures; just a swifter job all around. She wondered idly if the method could have other, more mundane applications. Maybe she could even sell it someday. One could never have enough non-alchemical funding, after all.

Once the proto-core was dried, Mona tucked it into her bag and gathered up the beakers of her flammable liquids. 

“We’re going down to Plash’s, now,” she said to Slimon, who straightened up and smoothed out his face, “Just patrol the parameter. Direct guards away if they get too close. I shouldn’t be in there for too long.”

When the two arrived at Plash’s classroom, Mona gave Slimon a little wave before disappearing inside the chamber. She quickly approached the cleanest of the desks and did her best to scrub away any substances that could endanger her experiment with the end of her cloak. Once she was satisfied, she unloaded her supplies and began the rather precarious procedure of igniting the core.  
She had to be careful when applying the flammables, for very obvious reasons. 

“Well, here goes nothing.”

Mona’s heart beat quickly as she lifted the proto-core in a pair of tongs and put up her hood. Once she was fully covered, she lit a match and gently dropped it onto the core.

FWOOM!

The core caught fire in a blaze of yellow light, arcs of flame shooting off in all directions. Mona felt the corners of her mouth draw back. Yes! Yes! It was beautiful! Her flammables worked like a dream, and they’d look oh-so much prettier on the finished product. Even more wonderful was the core’s status; despite the outside slowly beginning to char, the object itself stayed in one piece. Once the fire-proof buffer was complete, the core would have no trouble staying stable once lit.

Mona’s heart fairly bloomed with pleasure. It was working! It was happening! Giving in to her delight, she pushed off from the ground and pirouetted in the middle of the classroom, her cloak and robes fanning out around her.

Oh, if only her parents could see her now. Out after curfew, dressed in a filthy school uniform, trailing a flaming ball of bones through the air. Their imagined looks of horror didn’t hurt her, for once; all she could think of was her bright, shiny future as a brilliant alchemist. After this, she’d be able to go and do what she loved, every day, all day, and people would love her for it. Maybe her family might even come around, if she became respectable enough.

Lost in these happy musings, her feet moved on their own, kissing the musty floor as she sailed elegantly around the classroom. During her childhood, she’d learned a great many things about being a young noblewoman. How to talk, how to walk, how to dress, how to eat, how to laugh, how to play several musical instruments and recite all sorts of delightful poetry. But the one thing she’d actually enjoyed learning was how to dance.  
Despite her outwardly stony demeanour, there was something about dancing that she found absolutely irresistible. Her lessons at the manor had been a welcome escape from the drudgery of everything else, but they simply could not have prepared her for the bliss that was her first ball.  
She hadn’t even needed a partner; she was simply absolutely content to waft and whirl and sway to the loveliest music she’d ever heard in her life. It was like floating, flying; it drew on something deep and warm and natural inside her, and made her feel perfectly sublime. When she danced, she was happy. And when she was happy, she danced.  
Maybe someday, she thought to herself, she might even find someone who made her happy enough to dance with. 

She came slowly to a stop, holding her smoking core. It had gone out. Hmm. Hopefully the pitch would help keep it alight when it had to move quickly. Maybe she’d look into that.  
But the experiment was over, as well as her little frolic. She smoothed down her robes, pursing her lips.

‘Be serious, Mona. You can dance when you’ve succeeded…’ 

 

When Mona had packed up her things and hidden any evidence of her presence in the classroom, she crept out into the hallway. To her surprise, she couldn’t find Slimon anywhere. Was she just missing him amongst the other guards? She could usually tell him apart… Worry flickered in her stomach. Had something happened to him?  
But she couldn’t dwell on that, now. If something had happened to him, she would have to wait until morning to discover what it was, and if nothing had happened to him, there was no cause for alarm. She had to get back to her room, at any rate, and she would have to be extra careful since she didn’t have Slimon to keep an eye out for her. 

‘He probably just strayed a little too far on patrol,’ Mona thought as she crept down the dim hallways, ‘…But if he doesn’t return by morning, I’ll look into it…’ 

Hastily climbing the stairs, she tiptoed down the lodgings hall and gingerly opened the door to her room, making sure the wood didn’t creak too loudly.  
To her surprise and relief, she found Slimon standing inside, next to her bed.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she muttered, “I thought you were–“

Slimon moved towards her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she noticed something dark inside his body. Gently, almost lovingly, the Slimulacrum lifted a shape out of his torso and held it towards Mona. Mona inhaled, sharply.

Cradled in Slimon’s gooey arms was Plague Knight. His chest was rising and falling stertorously, and his body was soaked with mud and slime. Barely visible against the dirt, but chillingly present was a dark crimson stain on his sack cloth robes. 

“Mona…” he wheezed, “Hee… Slimon’s a real… life saver… Carried me up all those stairs… Hee…”

His usual giggles sounded more like pained wheezes. Mona swallowed, trying to control the prickling rush of terror in her stomach.

“What happened,” she said, seriously. She looked at Slimon, “Put him on my bed. Now.”

“I’ll be… alright…” Plague Knight gasped as Slimon slid him carefully onto Mona’s sheets, “I took something… on the road… I’m healing already… Just gotta…” 

He lifted his hand shakily from his chest and rooted around in his cloak, wincing weakly as he did so. His body was shuddering so badly that he could barely hold the bottle he removed. His fingers were clumsy as he tried to uncork it. Mona snatched it out of his hands. Whatever make-shift tonic he’d taken on the way back had only bought him some time. 

“Hey..! I-I… need that…” hissed Plague Knight, making a grab for the bottle and then gasping in pain.

“You can’t just huff Sweet Vitriol. A painkiller is not a cure,” Mona growled, putting the bottle out of reach.

“But it… helps…” Plague Knight chuckled weakly, “Give it back, Mona… Pretty please… Just make me a little brew and put me to bed, I’ll be fine…”

“You’re a doctor, can’t you see how serious this is?!”

“Serious? I’ve… heh… I’ve… cheated death… once, hee… twice, heehee… three times! Four! My whole life! Heehee! And I’ll keep on cheating him! Forever! Hahaha!!!””

Mona gritted her teeth. Every peal of laughter sounded like it was shredding his lungs. A trail of blood dribbled from the corner of his mask. 

“Plague Knight, this is serious. I don’t have time to brew you up a potion. You– You’re––“

He didn’t realize how serious this was. He was probably loopy from blood loss. Mona went to the small cupboard in the corner of her room and pulled out one of her tunics. She hastened back to Plague Knight’s side and wadded the tunic, pressing it against the gash in his chest to try to staunch the bleeding. Plague Knight hissed.

“Hush. Slimon, keep this in place. I’ll be back soon.”

Mona swept out the door and into the corridor, moving as quickly as she could without making any sound. She prayed she would make it in time. Plague Knight could bleed out at any moment, and even if she managed to get what she was looking for, it might be too late to administer it by the time she returned…

After what seemed like an age, she found herself at the medical area. Just like the rest of the school hallways, the place was guarded by Slumulacra. But Mona needed time to break into the infirmary. She had to distract the guards. It was a gamble… but there was something precious on the table.

Mona reached into her bag and removed the proto-core. She crept into the next hallway and struck a match, lit the core, then threw it as hard as she could. She didn’t even stay to see where it landed. She simply fled when the ball of bones made a loud crunch, pressing herself flat against the wall. Guards began to converge on the light and sound. Hopefully, it would provide a good enough distraction to buy her time…

Mona hurried to the infirmary. The door in was locked, but the place behind the counter was still open, save for a pair of wooden privacy screens. Mona scrambled over the counter and peeked around the screens. The Healer was inside, sitting at a bedside, administering something to an ailing student. Mona’s eyes darted from him to the shelves. A large, pink potion caught her eye; this was the one she needed. Could she make it before the Healer noticed?

Mona slipped around the screens. He was still attending to the patient. The other beds were empty. Mona grabbed the large bottle off the shelf. It clinked, slightly. She didn’t even pause to see if the Healer had heard. She dove for the screens and leapt for the counter.

“Hey––?”

She had cleared the counter, she was rushing down the hallway. The Slimulacra guards were returning to their patrols. Her proto-core was gone. They must have carried it off… Mona sped up the stairs, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Almost home free. Almost there.

Seconds later she’d thrown herself through her door and into her room. She didn’t even pause to catch her breath, stumbling towards the bed where Slimon was still holding her rolled up tunic against Plague Knight’s wound. 

“Mask. Off,” she gasped, throwing herself down beside him and holding up her precious stolen cargo, “You need to drink this. All of it.”

She reached for his cloth mask. Plague Knight fairly shrieked and clutched at his beak.

“No! No– No no––“

“Take it off,” snarled Mona, “Take it off or so help me––“

“Wait, wait wait wait wait!” squeaked Plague Knight, panically. He fumbled frantically in his robes, whimpering in pain, before drawing out a small, thin object. A straw? Mona stared in disbelief. But if it would get the potion in him faster…

Mona took the straw and instructed Slimon to carefully prop Plague Knight up. As he did so, Mona uncorked the round bellied bottle and stuck the straw down the neck. She pushed it awkwardly towards Plague Knight’s beak, unsure of how all of that worked. Plague Knight feebly took the straw and inserted it into an unseen hole in his mask.

There was a long silence as he began to drink the potion. His sips were small and weak at first, but soon became greedy gulps as the liquid slowly drained. When he was finished, he fell back against the pillow and exhaled deeply. Fragrant pink vapour streamed out the hole in his mask like steam from a teapot. He lay there for some time, gasping. Mona watched him, her heartbeat loud in her ears. 

“Hoo… That’s strong stuff,” he finally croaked. 

Mona slowly, shakily let herself down against the bed, propping herself up with her elbows. She let her head hang for a few moments, swallowing the dryness in her throat. When she looked up again, her face was blank.

“What happened to you?”

Plague Knight chuckled, quietly, “Just had a… tough week…”

“How did this happen?” Mona pointed to his chest. 

He shifted, slightly, “Hee… You wouldn’t believe it… I managed to get my… hands on a little jewel… Just the right one, I think… And what do you know? Some greedy little… Magpie steals it from me… I spend days, heehee, chasing him… all over the forest… use up all my bombs… And then..! I almost catch him, tonight! Ha… And HE gets trounced by a… Griffoth…” 

Mona’s eyes widened. A Griffoth? She knew the huge winged beasts from Humeheath castle. The ones there were tame and meant to keep out intruders, but she knew there were wild ones in the surrounding wilderness…

“Big rascal… Stole the jewel, hee..! Smashed up the Magpie…”

Mona’s eyes narrowed, again.

“…Plague Knight…”

“So I…”

“Plague Knight. You went up against a Griffoth? Unarmed?”

Plague Knight giggled gleefully. The usual effect was ruined by the accompanying tortured rasp. 

“I almost got hi–“

Mona stood up so fast she made Plague Knight jump, which in turn caused him to groan. Slimon stood up as well, ready to receive orders. But Mona simply swept to the other end of the room, one hand shielding her face.

“…You can’t do that…”

“Heh… Yes I can!”

“No, you CAN’T.” 

Mona stood there, her body shaking, “You can’t just– You can’t just do stuff like that, Plague Knight. You knew you were out of bombs. You knew the Griffoth was dangerous. You’re not stupid. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. So why––“

Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand over her mouth. No, no, no, don’t…

Plague Knight was silent. She dared not turn around to look at him, and she probably wouldn’t be able to tell what he was thinking behind that mask, anyway.

“Mona..? Heh… It doesn’t matter, Mona… I’m fine! I feel better already…”

“But what if you weren’t?” she said, forcing down the lump in her throat, “Did you even think..? Did it ever once cross your mind that you could be seriously hurt? That you could die?!”

Plague Knight chuckled weakly, “Heh… I just wanted the jewel back… A little scratch doesn’t matter…” 

Mona swallowed again, harder.

“Really, Mona, you’re getting very worked up… Heh, please, don’t worry about me. It’s not worth it…”

‘I’m not worth that risk.’

Mona’s eyes stung. She felt like smashing something. There was something trying to escape her chest, but it just couldn’t break free of that barrier. Years of forcing it all back made it too difficult to just let loose. Instead it just hurt. Pressure building and building, with no means of escape. 

“I… You… I can’t just–– I can’t not worry, I…”

“Mona..?”

The fight suddenly left her, and she let out a small, trembling breath. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say the words aloud.

‘I care about you. You’re my friend.’

It was embarrassing. Admitting it felt almost like admitting some kind of shameful, private secret. But it was the truth. And focusing so strongly on the feeling finally impressed upon her just how important that fact really was.  
Plague Knight was her friend. Her only friend in… maybe ever. Of all the people she’d ever met in her life, he was the only one who actually seemed to give a damn about her. Her parents resented her, her sisters didn’t understand her, the other noble children were all insufferable and her fellow students were all intimidated.  
Mona didn’t need friends. She’d lived her life without them this far, and she could continue to do so. But having him there, beside her, meant more than she could possibly express. She could go on without him… but she didn’t want to, if she could help it.

Mona swept around and returned to the bedside. This part was crucial. The medicine would start causing an intense heating in the body as it did its best to repair the damage. A fever would develop, and if she couldn’t keep him cool she risked losing him again.

“Slimon, go the well and bring up a bucket of water,” she said, quietly.

Slimon stood to attention, then oozed out the door. Mona picked up a sheet of paper and folded it in half, then began fanning Plague Knight with it. 

“You should really take off that mask,” she muttered, her face blank again, “You’re about to get a whopping fever.”

“I can feel it,” Plague Knight replied, dizzily, “Mask stays on, though.”

“Suit yourself…”

There was a long silence. All was quiet except for Plague Knight’s laboured breathing and the flapping of Mona’s makeshift fan. Despite the oncoming heat, Plague Knight seemed to be relaxing. His chest rose and fell in a softer, more even motion, and his head was tipped back ever so slightly.

Mona sighed. Her throat was still sore and tight, but her heart rate was beginning to slow down. She suddenly felt exhausted. Being emotional really took a lot out of her. She propped her chin up on one hand and continued fanning with her free one. Her eyelids drooped, and she quickly shook her head to dispel the sleepiness. She had to keep awake. So did he.  
Her eyes slid over to the table at the far end of the room. Her beakers were there, carefully organized and covered by a small cloth to keep them out of immediate view. Next to them was Plague Knight’s recently confiscated bottle of Sweet Vitriol. The stuff was practically his cologne; she could smell it on him even now, past the mud. Cloying and pungent. Even without looking at him, it made her think of his face. Long and beaklike, tanned and freckled. Plague Knight and Bertram…  
Mona frowned.

“…Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Hmm..?”

She adjusted her position, trying to get more comfortable, “That you were Plague Knight. I mean, before I knew. If I hadn’t caught you out that night, would you have ever told me the truth?”

Plague Knight was quiet for a little while, thinking.

“…I don’t know…” 

“Hm.”

“Heh… Maybe… Maybe not. Being Bertram wasn’t so bad… The extra height was pretty useful, heehee… Among other things…”

Mona exhaled through her nose in amusement. She was a stranger to the trials and tribulations of the short. 

“But then again, hee, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way, if you hadn’t caught me…”

“What, you wouldn’t have gotten slashed?”

“Heh? No! No… I meant, about our collaboration.”

Mona blinked. It was true… If she’d never caught Plague Knight, he probably wouldn’t have ever invited her out on his supply runs, they would never have finished the mouse-gold method together, and the Inflammitation would never have even been dreamed up.

“Hee… I was so pleased…”

Mona looked up. Plague Knight’s masked face was inscrutable as always, but there was a fond note in his voice.

“That day you begged me to tutor you! What a stroke of luck..!”

“I didn’t beg,” grumped Mona, before cocking her head, slightly, “A stroke of luck..?”

“On the first day… When I saw you…” Plague Knight was sounding increasingly lightheaded. That fever must be really setting in. Mona fanned harder, “The look in your eyes when you multiplied the vitriol..! Hee! So hungry… I knew you felt the same… You wanted to know..!”

“Felt the same..?”

“And then… the Fulminating Silver… I had to be careful not to overpower my disguise… But your cluster was so… beautiful… I couldn’t stop shaking…”

Good lord. He was gushing like the wound his chest. His poor brain must be frying.

‘Hurry up, Slimon…’ Mona thought, worriedly. 

“Wanted to approach you… Hee! But you were so standoffish… Then you asked me… to teach you..! Just the two of us… A perfect chance to get you away from Ballard… See your talents up close… Unhindered… Unfettered… Wonderful! …The mouse skull! Inspired… And you said… You wanted to know… most of all…”

Plague Knight giggled wheezily and tilted his beak downwards so that he could look at Mona.

“…Just like me..! Hee!”

Was he talking about that travesty of an explanation she’d given Bertram about why she wanted to study alchemy? Did he really identify with it so strongly? 

“We’re going to show them, Mona… show them all…” Plague Knight curled his little fists, “What alchemy can really do..!”

The door swung open then, startling Mona. Slimon trundled in, carrying a bucket of water.

“Oh, good. Bring that here.”

Slimon shut the door and brought the bucket to Mona. Mona took off her gloves and dipped them into the water. The liquid was nice and icy cold from the evening air outside. Once she’d saturating her gloves, she leaned over Plague Knight and made to tuck them under his hood to cool his forehead. She couldn’t get past the mask, but hopefully the material would cool down anyway. The little alchemist protested, but he was too weak to stop her.

“Calm down. I won’t take it off.”

He relaxed a little at her assurance, and she wedged the gloves into place. Then she removed her bloody tunic from Plague Knight’s chest. Ugh. Time to clean the wound. Mona wasn’t a huge fan of healing, and she liked dealing with viscera even less, but she couldn’t leave it. The potion should have stabilized his condition by now, but she still had to make sure that infection didn’t set in. Plague Knight probably knew more about this, being an actual doctor -or something like it- but he wasn’t in much of a state to direct, judging by his ramblings. 

“Gonna need to open your robes,” she said. 

Once again, Plague Knight protested, but she simply ignored him. She peeled the cloth apart, exposing a stained and ripped undershirt. She rolled this carefully up and peered at his chest. The wound was at the height of his sternum, cutting a red swath through his pale, greenish flesh. She pulled another clean tunic out of her cupboard and used it to wash the wound. The blood on the sheets wouldn’t be too difficult to explain if she couldn’t clean them herself, but her tunics would have to be disposed of. Oh well. Her friend’s health was more important than a few pieces of fabric. 

Plague Knight fidgeted and fussed as she cleaned, but she pressed on diligently. Another garment was used to plug the gash, once she was finished. Mona really wished she had proper medical supplies, but she couldn’t risk another trip down to the infirmary that night. 

“Slimon, can you fan Plague Knight, please?” 

She handed Slimon the makeshift fan and wadded up her bloody tunics. She tossed them into a corner, then slowly rested her head on the end of the bed. In moments, she was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all my readers! Special thanks to 'A person who doesn't know what to name themselves' for your wonderful (and very thorough!) comment! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story thus far, and touched that you'd leave something so in-depth :) !  
> I *did* specifically want to make clear the difference between Magic and Alchemy, for several reasons, with Alchemy being more closely compared to science. Fanciful science, I'll grant, but science nonetheless. 
> 
> In any case- we draw ever close to the final chapter and a small epilogue! Onwards, and bombwards, heheh. --TS
> 
> PS- I just beat POS myself! Didn't think I could actually do it. My platforming skills are... funky. But it was deeply worth it. Now to try my hand at mastering a shovel...


	9. Primed

Mona woke up with a stiff neck and a general feeling of malaise. She blinked groggily and tried to figure out what was making her so nervous. The soft sound of flopping met her ears, along with deep, slow breath. She looked up, and everything came back in an instant. 

Plague Knight was asleep on her bed, and Slimon was still dutifully fanning the sleeping man to keep him from overheating. By this point, his fever should have subsided. Mona stood up and stretched.

“That’s enough, Slimon. Thank you.”

The Slimulacrum ceased fanning and nodded, placing the bedraggled folded paper on the table.  
Mona looked down at Plague Knight. His skin was still pale, but his breath was even and comfortable, and there didn’t seem to be any further bleeding from his wound. The potion must have done its job. Now it was time for recovery…  
Mona cracked the door to her room, then peered into the hallway. It was quiet out there. Stepping outside, she made her way to one of the windows. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, sending golden shafts through the greenish dawn. Classes would be starting soonish, but for now the halls were still silent. She went back into her room.

“Slimon, can you go fetch another pail of water? I’ll be back…”

Slimon dutifully picked up last night’s bucket of bloody water and carried it away, while Mona scuttled off to the ground floor. There was a shed full of little tubs students could borrow to bathe in, so long as they kept them clean and brought them back. Mona hoped she’d be able to avoid the guards still on patrol whilst carrying the rather bulky washtub. She wished the school had decent plumbing, but it was an old establishment and none of the staff wanted to bother installing some.  
Mona had to move very slowly and carefully, playing something of a dangerous game of red-light-green-light with the guards on patrol. It took her far longer to carry the tub up to her room than it usually took to get there. By that time, Slimon had returned with a fresh bucket of water and was waiting beside the bed. Plague Knight was still fast asleep, mumbling something unintelligible, but nevertheless interspersed with audible “Hee!”s.

Mona let out a deep breath and placed the tub on the floor. 

“I think I’ll just pretend to be ill,” she muttered, aloud. 

This would give her time to make sure Plague Knight was properly on the mend. She’d never imagined herself having to nurse a criminal back to health, but then again, she supposed she’d also never imagined herself scheming to take down an entire academy, either.  
Mona took the bucket from Slimon and tipped its contents into the tub. It didn’t fill it very far but that didn’t exactly matter; the tub itself was quite small, and the water would be displaced once sat in. Lucky thing Plague Knight was so diminutive… Mona had to take different measures to get clean, as she was far too large to fit in the school tubs.  
Speaking of Plague Knight, the beaky young man was stirring from his fitful slumber. He twitched, sat upright and winced. 

“Gagh… My chest… Heh… What did I do last night?”

Mona stared at him over the tub of water.

“…Wow. That fever really did fry your brain.”

“Fever..? Mona…”

Plague Knight looked down at his chest, which was still packed up tight, then looked back up at Mona and sunk sheepishly back into the bed.

“…Heh… Heheh… Heheheh…”

Mona rolled her eyes. Alright. The guilty giggles were a fairly sure sign he remembered at least some of the previous evening. She wondered how much, though… 

“…Whenever you feel ready, you should take a bath. You’re filthy,” said Mona, straightening up and collecting her bag and notebook. 

“Take a… bath..?”

“Yeah, I brought a tub. You said yourself the secret to good health is consistent bathing.”

“Heh, heh, so I did… Uhhh…”

Mona raised an eyebrow.

“I’m… going to leave the room, you know. Do you think I’m going to try to catch you without your mask on, or something?” 

Despite that very article covering his mysterious facial features so effectively, Plague Knight’s body language made his embarrassment obvious. Mona smirked ever so slightly.

“If I remember correctly, you were the one asking me about my bathing habits. I’m not the weirdo, here.”

Plague Knight spluttered, which sent him into a coughing fit. Mona winced. Alright, maybe that was a little too much teasing. 

“I’m kidding– Just get clean, okay? We have plenty to discuss when you’re finished.”

With that, Mona swept out the door and closed it behind her. She sat down against it and leaned back, opening her notebook.  
By this time, the other students on the block had left for their classes. There was a faint hum of activity from the surrounding corridors, but the lodging area was devoid of people. This was a good thing, as claiming she was staying in sick while sitting outside her room would be a little contradictory.  
Mona sat comfortably against the door, making adjustments to her diagrams and notes and keeping an eye out for any approaching students or staff.  
She could hear Plague Knight splashing around behind the door and occasionally making little quips at Slimon. Mona hoped he wasn’t getting water all over the floor. 

About a half hour later, there was a rather meek, “Heh, you should probably come back in, now.”

Mona stood up and slipped back into her room. Inside, Plague Knight was sitting on the floor. He’d torn the sheets off her bed and had wrapped the least stained end around himself. His clothing was soaking in the mucky tub, all except for his mask, which was firmly in place. The mask was a little damp in places from where he’d scrubbed out dirt, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Without the hood of his robes, the entirety of the mask was revealed to cover Plague Knight’s whole head, cinched around the throat with string. He tilted his head up at her, glass eyes flashing.

“Hee, hope you don’t mind about your sheets!”

“Whatever keeps you modest.”

She looked into the tub.

“I can’t say I know much about washing clothing, but I can dry these when you’re satisfied. I developed a quick-dry method, which, incidentally, I just used on the core-grout. Stuff works like a charm.”

“Hee! You’ve been busy!”

“What do you think I do when you’re not around? Wait for you to get back?”

Plague Knight giggled, “Tetchy, tetchy! I’m merely impressed by your progress! The grout is finished, the buffer’s perfected, the core is in good shape and the pitch is coming along nicely!”

“And my flammables are all working like a dream!” Mona cut in.

“HEE! We’re practically finished already!” squealed Plague Knight, joyously, “Except..! For one little detail… I thought we might like to add…”

Mona sat down on the floor across from her friend, leaning in curiously.

“Little detail?”

“Well… Slimulacrum often carry weapons. Our Inflammitation absolutely MUST have something to swing around and look extra scary with, HEE! But a backhoe won’t do.”

“It’d probably burn the handle off anyway,” Mona muttered, thoughtfully.

“Heh, indeed! So, I think we need to pay a visit to the local armoury…”

“The local armoury?”

“Well, heh, if you can call it that. The little knight’s garrison in the village ought to be stocked with swords! We’ll just help ourselves, heehee…”

Mona frowned, “Wait… We?”

“Oh yes! It’ll be a two-man… Two-person job! I’ll make a distraction, while you…”

“Whoa, whoa. Nobody is doing anything until you’re better,” interjected Mona, firmly, poking him in the chest, just above his wound so as not to hurt him. Plague Knight flinched and scrambled back.

“Hey!”

Mona quickly withdrew her hand, suddenly rather embarrassed. That was the most physical she’d ever gotten with another person at the school, outside of necessity. 

“Sorry… Y-you just need to calm down,” she said, hurriedly, trying to cover her embarrassment, “If you start running around causing havoc in the state you’re in, you’ll open the wound again. And I’m not stealing you another stabilizer.”

Plague Knight adjusted his bedsheets and folded his arms, “I’m fine, Mona!”

“You’re practically a ghost,” she said, flicking her eyes to his exposed feet and forearms, which were deathly pale, “You need food and bed rest. I’m not letting your impatience endanger my future as an alchemist.”

Plague Knight quickly withdrew as much of his limbs under the sheets as he possibly could. 

“…Fine.”

He turned and crawled back onto the bed, turning his body away from her so that she couldn’t see his face. Not that she could in the first place. 

‘Is he sulking?!’ she thought, resisting the urge to audibly smack her forehead. What a baby. A few days of bed rest wouldn’t kill him; in fact, it was sure to do the opposite. 

Mona decided to let him mope. She had a lot of cleanup to do. Plague Knight’s clothing needed to be dried, several tunics had to be disposed of, food needed to be secreted up and the components for the project needed further logging and organization.

‘He owes me, big time,’ she thought. At that, an idea struck her.

“Taking your Vitriol,” she told him, approaching the table and slipping Plague Knight’s bottle into her pocket.

Plague Knight squawked from the bed.

“Why?!”

“Need to pretend I’m ill so I can get out of classes. That stuff’ll make me woozy and ruin my sinuses. Just perfect.”

Without waiting for protest, Mona left the room and uncorked the bottle. She raised it to her nose and inhaled, sharply, to get it over quickly. The searing, pungent, but slightly pleasant odour hit her nasal cavity like a dagger, making her eyes water and her head spin.

“Whoo yeah. That’s strong stuff. …Good gods. How does he breathe?!”

\- - -

After the first day, caring for Plague Knight became far easier. Once Mona had managed to clear up all the mess of the initial night, keeping everything under control became much simpler, especially with Slimon on hand to help. The Slimulacrum seemed to have gained even more intelligence, his form growing increasingly detailed and his movements more nuanced. Mona wondered if the blood he’d accidentally ingested had anything to do with it.  
Plague Knight, despite his annoyance at the prospect, dutifully stayed in Mona’s room and rested. He did, however, ask Mona to bring him all sorts of ingredients. Mona didn’t mind going on little supply runs, but she noted a hint of guilt in his voice whenever he asked. Was he sorry for the trouble he’d caused? Apologies didn’t seem to be his strong suit. Nevertheless, he told her that he was making something ‘she would like’, which seemed like his form of recompense for her inconvenience. Even if he wasn’t too direct with his apology, Mona appreciated the sentiment. After all, she was no stranger to being unable to express herself openly. 

A week and a half later, and the diminutive alchemist was back on his feet. He scuttled around her room, obviously suffering from cabin fever, giggling madly.

“Hee, heeheehee! We should go! Tomorrow! I’m ready– Fit as a fiddle and full to bursting!! When do you get out of classes? I’ll meet you in the village– HEE!! We’re almost done!!”

Mona sat at the desk in the back of the room and watched him half jig, half skip from corner to corner. It was probably best to let him go at this point; any more R and R and he might explode. Possibly literally.

“Alright, tomorrow it is,” Mona relented, “You seem pretty healthy to me.”

“In mint condition!” he cheered, “And you’ll be able to see me in action! You won’t be disappointed, HEE!” 

He seemed quite excited at the prospect of showing off his criminal cred. Mona couldn’t help but feel a little intrigued as well. She’d heard tales of his escapades before, but she’d never actually seen him in the act, not often having left the Academy. A little tag-team effort seemed like fun, as well. Mona had never held a sword, before, but she was rather eager to try. 

 

The next morning, Mona was shaken awake bright and early. She was slightly annoyed, as this was the first night she’d been able to sleep in her own bed again, and dearly wanted to make the most of it. However, Plague Knight’s usual vigour was infectious, and Mona found herself quickly more awake than she’d expected. 

“Good morning!” Plague Knight croaked, “This is for you!”

He held out a soft, bag-like object. Taking it, Mona realized it was a mask, very similar in design to his own, though with a shorter, more hooked beak. 

“Just in case anybody sees you!”

Mona gazed at the mask’s hollow, glassy eyes, wondering how he’d constructed it, or if he’d secretly stolen it when she wasn’t looking. 

“…So, does this make me your minion?”

Plague Knight snickered, “I thought you said we were partners!”

“We are partners.”

“Then stop being silly! Hee! There’s more!”

Plague Knight dumped a sack into Mona’s lap. Mona opened it, finding a dozen or so little polymer orbs, each filled with some kind of powder.

“Explosives..!”

“Of course! We’re going on a raid! You need ammunition, too, heehee!”

“I thought I was the one sneaking in to steal the sword?”

“Well, you never know with those pesky knights. Sometimes they do make uncharacteristic displays of common sense, heehee, like leaving a couple of men behind to guard their valuables.”

Mona swallowed a snicker.

“So! Just in case a few of them try rubbing some brain cells together, these should cover you,” Plague Knight pointed to each type of bomb in turn, “These grey ones are smoke pellets, these black ones are, well, black powder. They pack a wallop, so be careful, heehee! And this one… heh. This one you’ll want to be REALLY careful with.”

He pointed to a single, slightly larger bomb with a pale powder inside. 

“Make sure your mask is on tight for this one. That stuff’s a powerful irritant. Hee! It’s so impressive, there won’t be a dry eye in the house!”

Mona nodded, staring almost hungrily at the explosives. She wasn’t one for violence, necessarily, but testing out alchemical advancements was a passion. Plague Knight’s bombs were the stuff of legends, and seeing, nay, causing their effects firsthand was bound to be exciting. She could already tell the casings were expertly crafted, and the powders perfectly primed. Ideas for improvements and variations were already bombarding her mind. She could barely contain her enthusiasm; after all this was over, she was going to go straight to work. 

“Something wrong..?” Plague Knight had obviously noticed her silence.

“These are gorgeous,” she told him, eyes gleaming, “I love them!”

Plague Knight made a creaky sort of squawk in the back of his throat before quickly stumbling into another of his trademark giggle fits.

“Heeheehee! I knew you and I were alike, Mona! Perfect partners! Fire and black powder, hahaha!!”

Once again, Mona couldn’t help but titter along with him. She was really beginning to understand his monicker; that laugh of his was contagious. After the cackling subsided, Plague Knight cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Now, the plan. I’ll head to the village first to set up. You’ll arrive at around midday. I’ll cause a, heehee, disturbance, and you’ll sneak into the armoury and steal a sword while all the knights are trying to catch me!”

Mona nodded. Fairly straight forward. 

“Make sure to wear that mask, though; if you get caught, we’ll both be in a world of trouble!”

She looked down at the mask in her lap. 

“Hmm… There’s a problem.”

“Oh?”

Mona flicked her eyes back up to her accomplice. 

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” she said, flatly, “But I’m basically the tallest person in this town.”

And possibly even the entire kingdom of Humeheath. Since reaching her maximum height at age sixteen, she’d fairly towered over most people in the court, including the king and her parents. This was yet another thing they rather disapproved of, but they could hardly change her appearance, could they? It was useful, at times, especially when reaching things high up, or intimidating those smaller than her —which was everyone. But then there were the drawbacks… 

“If someone does catch sight of me, they might guess who it is, mask or no mask.”

“Ah…”

Mona smirked, “But I have a little idea.”

Plague Knight tilted his head, inquisitively. 

“There might be a way to misdirect people, even if we can’t outright change my height.”

Which they wouldn’t be able to. As Plague Knight had mentioned, trying to use a transmutation potion on her might backfire, horribly. Mona tugged her cloak towards her from the end of her bed.

“I upgraded my cloak’s defences. I’m fairly certain I could withstand a direct hit from a bomb.”

Plague Knight folded his arms, “Not one of mine. Where are you going with this..?”

“Well, if I was, say, in the screaming crowd of onlookers,” said Mona, tugging her cloak over her shoulders, “And you threw a bomb directly at me, most people would assume that A, I’d been grievously injured, and B that I have nothing to do with you. Bosses don’t usually bomb their minions.”

Plague Knight nodded, slowly, “Heh, I like it..! Only…”

Mona ignored him, “I can pretend to get angry, make some kind of comment, get you ‘all riled up’. Really cement that I hate you, just like the rest of the village. There’ll be witnesses. I’ll have an alibi. And I certainly won’t let them get close enough to catch me.” 

“Heh, well, I suppose, but…”

“But what?”

“I… Don’t want to throw a bomb at you.”

Mona raised an eyebrow, “I survived the explosion in Twinman’s class. I’ll be fine. Trust me?”

Plague Knight fidgeted, then shrugged, “Heh! Nothing scares you, Mona! Have I mentioned you’re a lady after my own heart?”

“Maybe once or twice.”

 

\- - -

 

The sun was high in the sky when Mona arrived at the village. She hadn’t been here for quite some time. Since she didn’t much like mixing with people, heading to a crowded place like this was at the bottom of her list of things to do. It wasn’t as terrible as she’d thought it would be, though; the streets were dusty but well kept, and vendors with brightly coloured stalls interspersed the buildings, calling out their wares. It reminded her of the village near her parents estate where she used to take walks, when she was allowed to. She felt a sense of wistfulness, then. She wondered if there was a local tinker here, too…  
There was a general air of cheeriness that Mona didn’t mind, and if she kept mostly to herself, she might have a fine time before getting to her mission.  
Mona’s school robes revealed her position at the Academy, and her appearance, as usual, turned a few heads, but nobody made an effort to speak to her. Her mask and sack of bombs were carefully concealed, and she took a moment to go over the plan again in her mind.  
Plague Knight was going to appear on top of the forge, which was just behind the garrison. He’d lead the knights off and buy her time while she absconded with a suitable sword.  
As for the bombs, he’d carefully instructed her on their lighting mechanism; an ingenious little trick wherein the bomber merely had to twist the tip of the wick between their fingers. The friction would light the sensitive material, making the clumsy application of matches obsolete.

Mona felt a swell of nervous excitement as she spotted the forge in the distance.

“Here goes nothing…”

“Hey! Ms. Mopes!”

Mona flinched and turned. A pair of fellow students were approaching her. She recognized the boy as being one of the gossiping ones from the library, and the girl from professor Ballard’s class.

“Oh, hi…” Mona mumbled, poker-faced as ever. She didn’t much want to talk to them, but having them as witnesses to her eventual trick might be useful.

“Hi,” said the young man. Was his name Olson? She knew he was in her class, but couldn’t remember, “D-didn’t expect to see you out here! You never leave the Academy!”

“Mhm.”

Olson -or whatever it was- faltered, “U-uhm, well, it’s nice to see you! I’m just, uh, going on a nice walk! With my Girlfriend!”

The word girlfriend was highly emphasized. Mona glanced at the girl. She seemed to remember her as being the one who’d accidentally detonated her Fulminating Silver in her hand. The girl gave Mona a nervous smile. Mona grimaced back.

“That’s nice.”

“W-where are you going?”

Mona was very quickly regretting her decision to stop and talk.

“Just over there.”

“W-why don’t we come with you? Looks like there’s nice stuff over there… Good place for a guy and his Girlfriend!”

Mona tried not to roll her eyes, then turned and swept off. She heard the two quickly stumble forwards to catch up with her. Interacting with them was quickly reminding her how difficult it was to talk to other people. She’d become so used to getting along with Bertram that she’d nearly forgotten how awkward she was around people she didn’t much care to know. The revelation threw her muted feelings of isolation into sharp relief, and her stomach twisted. But it was better this way, she assured herself, better to be lonely than to be rejected…

Olson continued to babble on about how wonderful his girlfriend was as they walked. His complements were a little awkward, but judging by a stream of stifled giggles, the girl appreciated them. Mona might have been inclined to feel a little more warmly towards Olson because of this, if she didn’t suspect that his gushing had a rather annoying ulterior motive.  
Luckily for her, the forge fast approached, and soon the three were standing outside of it, mingling with a crowd of villagers going about their daily business. Mona nodded vaguely in response to more of Olson’s gabbling, and gave the girl a few thin-lipped smiles. She was about to point out a fruit stand nearby where Olson could buy his gorgeous, smart, amazing and super-beautiful girlfriend a nice apple, when a deafening explosion rent the air.

Screams arose from the villagers, and many scattered for cover, or else converged into tightly knit groups. Looking up, Mona saw a silhouette slice through the bright sunlight above the forge’s roof, trailing green flames. 

“HEE HEE HEE!!!”

More screams. Fingers pierced the air like arrows.

“It’s him!”

“Eek! It’s that horrible bandit!”

“Plague Knight– He’s back!!”

Mona quickly found herself on the other side of the street, backed up against the front of another building with Olson and his girlfriend wedged against her sides, quivering. 

“Greetings! Long time, no see! HEE HEE!” called Plague Knight gaily, his voice even screechier than usual. 

The sound of clanking quickly mixed with the terrified murmurs of the crowd. The village knights had arrived, all of them brandishing their swords. The leader, who wore slightly shinier armour, and the green plume of Humeheath on his helmet, stepped forwards.

“Plague Knight, you despicable knave!” he roared, “How dare you show your face here again?!”

“Hee!” Plague Knight giggled giddily, “Are you still angry about last time? I suppose it IS a little humiliating to think you’ve captured the greatest alchemist in the land… only to discover you’ve accidentally locked up the locksmith! HEE HEE HEE!!!”

A woman shrieked from the crowd, “You monster! You nearly got my husband drawn and quartered!”

“The lady locksmith!” crowed Plague Knight, turning to look down on her from his perch, “Hello! I thought you’d be thanking me; those few hours with my face were the prettiest he’s ever looked! HAHAHA!!”

The woman wailed and fell back, fainting. Mona couldn’t help but think she was being a tad melodramatic. 

“You shan’t escape, this time!” shouted the leader of the knights, raising his sword, “Your luck has run out, Plague Knight!”

“I don’t think so, HEE HEE! BOOM!!!”

Mona decided it was about time she stepped forwards. She pushed past the crowd, making sure to bump into as many people as she could on the way.

“HEY, YOU! BIRDBRAIN!” she hollered, “WHY DON’T YOU GO LAY AN EGG?!”

Her already rosy cheeks went scarlet as she shouted. She hadn’t exactly rehearsed her lines beforehand. Plague Knight doubled up with laughter, and from experience, she noted that it was genuine. This made her face even redder.

“HEE! And who’s this? A brave little wench? Hee– Well, maybe more brave than little! And more foolhardy than brave!”

“Stay back, miss!” ordered one of the guards, trying to push Mona back into the crowd, but she held firm.

“WHO’RE YOU CALLING LITTLE? I’M NOT THE ONE WHO HAS TO STAND ON A ROOF TO MAKE HIMSELF FEEL BIG!”

Plague Knight laughed even harder, though Mona noticed the mirth leaving his voice, somewhat. 

“HAHA! Feisty! I know just what’ll calm you down! HEEHEEHEE!!”

Here it came. Mona shoved the knight beside her out of the way as hard as she could, and Plague Knight lobbed his bomb. It tumbled through the air, spinning and smoking, and everyone in the immediate vicinity scattered. Mona whirled her cloak around her body, simultaneously reaching into her concealed sack of bombs and lighting several smoke pellets. The effect was perfect. Mona felt the bomb detonate against her cloak just as the pellets belched grey smoke.  
Horrified shrieks erupted from the crowd, mingling with Plague Knight’s crazed laughter.

Mona dashed towards the forge, ducking around the side of it as the uproar concealed her movements. She quickly turned her robes inside out, hiding the Academy’s signature embroidery, and tucking her black braid down the back. She jammed her mask over her head, cinching the material tightly around her neck, and put up the hood of her cloak. A concoction of pleasant smells hit her nose; this mask was stuffed with aromatic herbs, just like a real one.

’To keep me calm,’ she thought, appreciatively.

She paused a moment to peer up at the roof of the forge. She couldn’t see Plague Knight from this angle, but another explosion rent the air, followed by more green flames. The knights clanking footsteps followed the peals of wild laughter away from her position, leaving her to sneak away safely. Her chest was full of butterflies as she darted towards the empty street in front of the garrison. She had to admit, Plague Knight was pretty impressive when he was putting on a show. She wouldn’t quite call him dashing, but…  
She waved away these distracting thoughts, focusing on her mission. The garrison was a mid-sized, fortified building made of stone. The door, when she tried it, was luckily unlocked, probably left so in the knights hurry to respond to the disturbance. Slipping inside, Mona made her way down a short corridor which lead into a room that resembled the mess hall at the Academy, only smaller. The place was empty, and plenty of half-eaten meals were sitting on the wooden tables. Mona bustled past these, peering carefully through her green-tinted lenses for any signs of movement.  
There didn’t seem to be anyone there, so Mona hastened to the door at the far end of the room, which was left open a crack.

Inside was exactly what she’d been looking for. Wooden shelves lined the room, mostly empty, but some still holding swords and armour. Mona ignored the assorted pauldrons and poleyns, making a beeline for her target. She hovered over a rack of abandoned blades, trying to discern which was the sharpest. Eventually, she chose a wicked looking longsword and made to slide the length of it into her belt.

“HALT!”

Mona nearly dropped the weapon. She turned to see a large knight standing in the doorway. Damn! Plague Knight had been right. She quickly secured her precious object as she stared down her foe.

“Who goes there?!” cried the knight, stomping forwards. Mona backed up, trying to maneuver herself into a position where she could dodge the oncoming enemy.

“You..! You’re with that Plague bloke!” cried the knight, finally noticing the mask concealing Mona’s features.

‘Took you long enough,’ she thought.

“What are you doing here?!”

Mona steeled herself, then dashed straight at the knight. He jumped in surprise and drew his sword. Mona flinched, ducking around him. She hadn’t expected the weapon! 

‘Damnit, Mona, you idiot!’

But she’d managed to juke him for now, blade or no blade. She leapt for the door just as the man spun around.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

Mona squawked as she felt a huge, plated hand grasp her upper arm. She yanked away, but the knight’s size and strength stymied her. His grip hurt. Even worse, the man’s other hand came around, reaching for her mask. Mona ducked, trying to wrestle free.

“Don’t bother resisting!” shouted the knight, “You’re mine, now!”

No point in kicking his shins; he was in full armour. Mona’s mind darted from escape plan to escape plan. The knight jerked her roughly towards him, still trying to make a grab for her mask. The sudden jolt disturbed her pouch of bombs, which she’d left half-open from her earlier flight. The precious cargo spilled onto the ground, bouncing pathetically. Mona winced. Shit!

“What’s this?!” cried the knight, momentarily distracted, though still gripping on tight. Mona was beginning to lose feeling in her arm, but something caught her eye.

As the knight was looking down at her spilled munitions, Mona stooped, scooped up the largest and palest of the bombs, and in one fluid motion, hit the bottom of knight’s helmet as hard as she could.

It flipped upwards, exposing a chink between his chin and his chest. It was here that Mona thrust her bomb, giving the wick a firm twist. 

HIIISSSSS…

Just as the knight’s helmet fell back, the bomb detonated. The knight screamed in agony, clawing at his helmet, which had just become a sealed can of irritant. 

Mona threw herself through the door and back into the mess hall, then out into the daylit street. She didn’t stop running until she was safely hidden in a nearby copse of trees. There she took a few moments to catch her breath and fix her robes. She peeled off her mask, hesitated, then tossed it high into the air. As she’d hoped, it caught on one of the tree branches and hung there, mostly out of sight. Mona then set to using the soot on her cloak to dirty her face. She tore at her braid, letting long hanks of black hair become askew. Once she was satisfied that she looked injured enough, she took her stolen sword and thrust it into the ground. Plague Knight would get it later when she told him where she’d hidden it.  
With that, she crept back to the village, and snuck back towards the forge. There, she crawled into a doorway and lay down, finally letting herself focus on the pain in her arm. She let this colour her mood, trying to bring tears into her eyes. She managed to make a sort of wailing sound, though she couldn’t make herself cry. 

Eventually, a villager peeped out of a nearby house.

“Gods!”

The woman ran out into the street and fell at Mona’s side.

“You poor creature! Did that blackguard get you? Can you stand?”

Mona shuddered and whimpered to the best of her ability.

“I-I think so,” she said, “H-h-he attacked me…”

“Poor child!”

The woman reached down and helped Mona to her feet. Mona leaned against the woman, careful not to overbalance her much shorter frame, but trying to play up a nonexistent injury.

“I-I’m f-from the Academy,” she stuttered, “C-c-can you t-take me there?” 

The woman obliged, though not without much protest about Mona’s condition. 

“There are healers at the school,” Mona told her, “I-I can get patched up there… Thank you, t-thank you… I was so scared..!”

Mona was deeply relieved when the woman finally transferred her into the arms of one of the gardeners, who in turn supported her to the infirmary. 

She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Mona burned with pride and pleasure. Everything was finally in place. When Plague Knight returned, they could begin the final steps. The birth of the Inflammitation drew nigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all comments and kudos, guys! We've almost come to the end of our tale... only one more chapter (and an epilogue) to go!
> 
> Quick fun fact: Slimon was not part of the original draft/plot of this story. I only included and developed him when I realized that the Slime Mona recores in chapter 5 would still be loyal to her, and that his presence would actually solve a lot of plotholes. Bless that lil goo ball!
> 
> Anyway, till next time! --TS


	10. Liber Ignium

“There you are, Mona!”

The corridor outside of Ballard’s tower room was filled with students. Mona was leaning against the wall amongst them, waiting for class to start. The other students had been staring at her and whispering for some time, all of them having heard what had happened to her two days prior. Mona looked up when she was called by name, then pushed off the wall to approach her friend.

Bertram smiled his vague smile as he hastened to her.

“Are you alright? I heard something terrible happened to you,” he said, peering up at her in concern, “The Academy’s buzzing that you were attacked in the village!”

Mona shrugged, “I’m alright. Just some bruises. The healer said it was mostly shock.”

Bertram tugged at his bag anxiously, “I was very worried, you know! I heard that your attacker was… that terrible, horrible bandit, Plague Knight!”

Mona nodded, “Yep.”

She tried not to cringe. Play-acting was neither of their strong suits. She could see Bertram trying not to corpse. Mona noticed the other students staring at them and muttering amongst themselves. She was sure that crush-rumour was still going strong, but at this point, they might as well play it up. They’d be leaving this place soon enough, anyway. 

“I’m just glad you’re back from the farm. Come sit with me.”

Bertram looked rather taken aback at the sudden invitation, having never received one like it before. They always met up at the end of class, staying separate for the duration. But, with a small shrug, he came to stand beside her, his placid smile back in place.

“Enter..!”

Ballard’s usual signal to start class echoed down the hall, along with the accompanying creak of his door. The students began to file into the room, and Mona and Bertram sat down together at two adjacent desks. 

“Hello, my dear students,” croaked professor Ballard, “In light of recent events, I have decided that today’s class will not concern any practical displays of alchemy…”

Some of the students made quiet sounds of disappointment, while others shot Mona sympathetic looks. Mona couldn’t care less; she didn’t need Ballard’s pity, injuries or no. The healer had cleaned her up and fed her a potion that had healed her bruised arm immediately. But she supposed she had to make an effort to play up her condition and continue to lull Ballard into a false sense of security. So she shot the professor as grateful a look as she could muster and settled in to listen.

“Today, I will give a lecture on Transmutation potions…”

Ballard hobbled to the sliding blackboard at the front of the class and began to chalk shaky diagrams across it.

“Transmutation potions are extremely temperamental, and should only be attempted by an alchemist with the utmost skill and experience, like myself…”

Mona flicked her eyes to Bertram who, sure enough, was trying to suppress a shit-eating grin. Seeing it made her struggle to keep her own lips from twitching. 

“There are two main types of Transmutation potion,” continued Ballard, “Of-Life Transmutation potions, and Of-Mind Transmutation potions. Can anyone tell me their characteristics?”

Bertram’s hand shot up.

“Mr. Petrel, welcome back,” said Ballard, “Am I to take it that you’re ready to make up for your absence?”

“Yes sir,” replied Bertram, humbly, “I apologize, sir. I promise to work extra hard, sir– It’s just that father fell ill, and… Erhem. I’ll just answer the question, shall I?”

Mona hid her smirk behind her hand. Masterful guilt trip. Ballard motioned for Bertram to speak, and Bertram stood up.

“Of-Life Transmutation potions are so-called because they are used to transform one thing into another that already exists, such as changing an apple into an identical orange that you already possess, or one living thing into another.” 

“Well done, Mr. Petrel! And the other variety?”

“Of-Mind Transmutation potions are used to transform one thing into something else that does not already exist,” replied Bertram, dutifully, “Like changing a mouse into a mythical monster. For fairly obvious reasons, this type is much harder to produce.” 

“Excellent! You may sit down.”

Bertram returned to his seat. 

“Now, then. Transmutation potions are very useful for a variety of tasks. While their use has historically been mainly employed in subterfuge and disguise, they are also quite helpful in increasing the faculties, such as strength and stamina…”

Ballard prattled on, and Mona found herself tuning out. She already knew all about transmutation potions, having studied them extensively out of curiosity in her second year. And of course, she’d seen their effects first-hand dozens of times, now.  
Bertram was staring at Ballard raptly, but Mona noted that his fingers were drumming lightly on his desk. ‘Bertram’ had to listen, of course. He was Ballard’s ‘perfect student’. But she could tell that Plague Knight was dying of tedium, just behind his eyes. 

When the class was finally over, Mona and Bertram headed for the mess hall.

“Captivating class, don’t you think?” Bertram commented as he ambled down the corridor, fidgeting with the strap on his bag. Mona wondered if his constant fiddling was Plague Knight’s only way of expressing his boundless energy in this form.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely spellbinding.”

“Maybe someday, I’ll be as clever as dear old professor B!” sighed Bertram, mock-wistfully, “I might even become skillful enough to make the apple-orange jump! The sky’s the limit…”

Mona gritted her teeth to stop herself from giggling. 

“You can quit it, now. We’re out of class.”

“Oh, but Mona, I reeeaaally mean it!” he teased, “Can’t a boy have his starry-eyed dreams of transmogrification?”

Mona sighed deeply and looked away to hide her wobbling lips.

 

When they arrived at the mess hall, there were very few students inside. It was a little too early for dinner, but they didn’t really want to eat, yet. They went to the back of the room, treading over the big, decorative alchemical circle in the centre of the floor.

“Tonight’s the night.”

“Mhm!”

Mona finally let her face split into an enormous grin, “I’m… I’m actually pretty excited.”

“Of course!” Bertram smiled placidly, “It’s an exciting event, to be sure!”

“Is it hard having to delay your freak-outs when you’re like this?” said Mona, propping her head up on her hand and smirking at Bertram’s spacey expression.

“I don’t freak out, Mona,” he said, calmly, “I express enthusiasm.”

“That’s one way to put it…”

Bertram cocked his head, “Does it bother you..?”

“No..!” Mona was surprised; she thought he knew she was teasing him back, “I mean… It’s not… It’s weird. But. Not… In a bad way..?”

Ugh. Yet again something that was too emotionally difficult to puzzle out in words. Bertram seemed satisfied with her answer, though. 

“I brought the pitch up to your room between classes. And the sword’s there, too. Everything should be accounted for. We just have to decide where to do it…” said Bertram, rescuing Mona from another emotional quandary.

“Well, we’ll need to actually put it together, first, so we should pick somewhere out of the way,” muttered Mona, “On the other hand… we want somewhere that will make the biggest splash… Hmm…”

“We could make it somewhere in private, then lead it out into the halls? It’ll be mobile, after all,” offered Bertram.

Mona nodded, thoughtfully. She’d been picturing an entrance with a bit more flair, but she supposed she would have to be content to sacrifice form for function.

“Things are really going to change, after this…” she murmured, softly. 

Bertram smiled a slightly more genuine smile.

“They really will… We’re going to turn this place upside-down. What do you think the students will do, after we… reveal the truth?”

Mona shrugged, “Probably cry about how much it cost to go here.”

“And you?” asked Bertram, “What do you plan on doing?”

Mona closed her eyes, picturing the fantasy that had been becoming clearer and clearer as the project wore on. 

“I’m going to make a name for myself. Set up a lab of my own. Experiment. Make things, discover things, kn… know…” she swallowed, once again dancing a little too close to something a little too deep, “Um, you know. Just. Be an alchemist. Like I always wanted to. Heh… Maybe finally impress my parents, heh…” 

Opening her eyes, Mona thought she saw a faint, ugly look flash across Bertram’s face at her last few words, but it was gone before she could really focus on it. 

“So… What about you?” she asked, hastily. 

Bertram blinked.

“Me? Oh… Well, I’ve been doing a little research… There’s this place I think I want to go to. A little fixer-upper to the east that I think I can put to good use…”

“Good use?”

“Heh… I was thinking maybe I’d start up a lab, too. But on a big scale. The bandit business is fun, but if I really want to start plumbing the depths of true alchemical potential, I’m going to need a suitable facility. A stronghold. Helpers…”

Mona raised her eyebrows, “Ambitious. Sounds fun.”

“Oh..! Well, you… You uhhh… You’re…”

Bertram seemed to be having trouble completing his thought. Mona’s eyes strayed from his consternated face to the mess hall at large. Students were beginning to trickle in, lining up at the kitchen windows to order food. She saw Olson amongst the crowd, and noticed that he seemed to be looking in their direction. Ugh.

His presence, however, gave her an idea.

“…The classroom.”

“…with m… Huh?” Bertram looked up.

“We should do it in the classroom. Ballard’s classroom. That’s where we should make it.”

A flicker of a maniacal grin momentarily overrode Bertram’s usual bland expression. 

“Ooh, Mona, you genius,” he whispered, breathily, fingers leaping to the strap of his bag. 

Mona grinned back at him, “It’s perfect. You put everything in my room, right?”

“Yes!”

“Then that’s where we’re headed, after we eat. C’mon. We’re gonna need our strength.”

“One usually eats food to recover strength, not garbage,” quipped Bertram, wrinkling his nose at the kitchen windows.

“Oh come on. It’s the last night. You can get something nice after.”

“Mmm… I suppose so.”

 

\- - -

 

Mona’s room was a hive of activity that night, as Mona, Bertram and Slimon set about prepping all of the materials for transportation and use. Bottles were tucked into protective sleeves and strung together, powders were cinched into sacks and put alongside them. Bertram tucked the precious, fortified core into a bag and tied it securely around his waist, while Mona took the sword and belted it to hers. Bertram was just tall enough to carry the sword, but once he transformed it would be too large for him, so it fell to Mona to transport it. She didn’t mind; it felt satisfyingly heavy and dangerous at her side.  
Slimon, being made of goo, was not to carry any objects, only prepare them whilst his gluey hands were encased in a pair of borrowed gloves. He was going to serve, as usual, as their escort. Mona noted that he seemed quite excited, moving more swiftly and expressively than he ever had before. His bascinet-shaped head was sharper and more distinct than ever, and despite being a helmet, it almost seemed to show emotion.

“Excited for the trip, Slimon?” asked Bertram, playfully. 

The Slimulacrum nodded enthusiastically. Since rescuing Plague Knight, the construct seemed to be far more friendly towards him. 

“Not a little worried about being replaced? After all, the Inflammitation is simply a stronger version of your ilk…”

Slimon shook his head, and looked over at Mona, as if to say ‘I shan’t be replaced; my mistress counts on me!’

He was right, of course; Mona had become quite attached to Slimon over the course of their project, and planned to take him with her when she became a proper alchemist. He would make an excellent lab partner, and a pleasant companion. Probably her only companion, she thought, as it seemed Plague Knight would be off to parts unknown after taking down the Academy.  
Mona couldn’t help but feel a slight melancholy at the thought. She was used to feeling glum, but this time it really tugged at her heartstrings. He was her friend, after all… her only friend. She would miss him.

There was no time to dwell on such depressing topics, however; Bertram was just tucking the last of his supplies into his robes and putting up his hood.

“Ready to head out?”

Mona simply have him a nod and stood up. 

The two young alchemists headed out into the hallway, followed by their Slimulacrum. They moved carefully, making an extra effort not to attract any attention from the guards on patrol. There were many of them, but no more than the increased amount that had been instated after Plague Knight’s rash of thefts. Slimon did his part perfectly, as usual, smoothing his features down to look like the other faceless guards and making sure his two charges remained unseen. 

They climbed the stairs quickly to professor Ballard’s corridor. A pair of guards were patrolling the length of it, from Professor Ballard’s personal chambers on the left, to his classroom on the right. 

“Slimon, can you get those two?” Mona whispered. 

Slimon saluted and approached the two other guards. After communicating with them in the gestural way of Slimulacra, the pair agreed to follow him to Professor Ballard’s chamber, which was far enough away to be out of sight of the classroom.

Mona and Bertram tiptoed to the unguarded door once the coast was clear, and Bertram quickly inspected the lock.

“…Alchemical seal, as usual,” he said, “I’ll just get that open.”

Mona turned towards the hall, keeping watch for any nasty surprises that might spring themselves on them. 

“Hmm, he really wants to keep this door shut,” muttered Bertram, “This lock’s actually a challenge!”

“Do you need any help?”

“I’ll be alright… It’s kind of nice to have a hard time on one of these, for once.”

Mona frowned, “Not tonight, it isn’t…”

“Relax, Mona, it’ll be fine,” he assured her, vaguely, “It’s just a little trickier than normal.”

Mona sighed and folded her arms. She felt a little foolish for being so nervous. They always got away with their midnight outings; why should tonight be any different? Tonight’s only distinction was the importance of its purpose…  
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Bertram was making little sounds and quips under his breath as he worked, and Mona decided to focus on them as she kept watch.

‘He’s funny when he’s engrossed,’ she thought to herself, ‘But Plague Knight’s twice as funny. I wonder if I make silly noises when I’m concentrating, and I just don’t notice it?’

“Ah, there,” whispered Bertram about a minute later, “I think that does it. I’ll just put the final touch, a––“

BOOM

Mona jumped about a foot in the air as an explosion rocked the corridor. She whirled around, just in time to catch Bertram, who’d been flung back by the blast, bringing the classroom door with him. Mona was just strong enough to prevent them form falling over as the door careened into them.

“P-Plague––“

Mona staggered back, quickly, letting the door fall over with a bang. Bertram wobbled limply in her arms, stunned.

Heart hammering, Mona turned to look down the hall. The sound of a scuffle was coming from that direction. Soon enough, a single Slimulacrum barrelled towards her as fast as his slimy lower-half could go, carrying a garden hoe and a rake that were most certainly not his over his shoulders. Slimon’s face had reverted to its bascinet shape, and he looked as panicked as a helmet could allow.

“Plague Knight, snap out of it,” said Mona, shaking Bertram, “We have to get out of here!”

The sound of clanging came from the stairs. They had to get out of the corridor before the only exit was sealed off. Bertram, luckily, had recovered, and wriggled out of Mona’s grasp.

“He booby-trapped it!” he squawked, in indignation, “What a––“

“Come on!!”

Mona grabbed his hand and ran for the stairs. They hurried down the steps, but found the very bottom blocked by a troop of guards. Bertram leapt in front of Mona, reaching into his cloak.

“Stand back!”

Three black powder bombs sailed into the air in quick succession, detonating against the gluey foes below. Slime flew everywhere, splattering against the walls and extinguishing nearby torches.  
A loud, wailing call suddenly sounded from all around, causing the group to jump.

“W-what is that?!” yelped Bertram.

“Emergency alarm,” said Mona, hurrying down the rest of the stairs and trying not to slip on the remains of the guards, “Goes off when something seriously bad happens. They’re really coming for us, this time–“

More guards were filing into the narrow hallway. Footsteps were sounding from nearby, too. 

“Heh! Well! This is exciting!” squeaked Bertram, his voice raising an octave, “I haven’t been this imperilled since– Well, two days ago!”

“We should split up,” said Mona, “The guards’ll get confused!”

“Meet you downstairs!” replied Bertram, already dodging off, tossing another bomb into the hallway ahead and splattering another guard.  
Mona turned to her side of the corridor. Slimon tossed his garden rake to her and nodded, seriously. Mona caught the rake, and steadied it in her hands.

“Here we go.”

The chase down the halls was a panicked flight of wits and agility. Guards fairly poured out of every available hallway, brandishing weapons. Slimon dashed left and right, slightly more mobile and far more cunning than his erstwhile brethren. He cleaved slime after slime in two with the sharp blade of his hoe.  
Mona thrust her garden rake through a Slimulacrum, knocking its core out and causing its body to collapse. Another guard, however, seized the rake and yanked. Mona nearly overbalanced, but quickly righted herself, pirouetting out of the way of its following strike.

“Get away from me!” she shouted, reaching into her belt and drawing the sword that hung there. 

She proceeded to aim for each guard’s core, slashing and striking them out of the bodies as she went. The sword was a little unwieldy, and she wasn’t at all experienced with holding a blade, but she managed to make do. Every one she missed, Slimon was sure to leap in and finish off himself.  
Footsteps echoed through the corridors, and Mona could see terrified students being herded towards exits. The alarm screaming in her ears competed with the pounding of her heart.

Ducking into a nearby hall, Mona was panicked to find she’d run straight into a teacher. Professor Langlog was standing there, looking pale and fearful, but holding what looked to be an armful of explosives.

“S-stay back––“ he cried, before blinking in shock, “Ms. Mopes? W-what are you doing here?! Evacuate with the other students!”

His eyes fell on her sword.

“Wh— Ms… Mopes? You..?”

“Move, professor,” Mona said in a cold, if shaky voice.

“I-I-I can’t–– We have to stop that horrible bird–– Oh Ms. Mopes, why..?”

“I’m sorry,” Mona said, raising her sword with the intent to frighten the old man, “Things had to change. Please move.”

“N-no…”

There was a crackle as he lit the bombs in his arms. Mona pointed at him, sharply. 

“Slimon!” 

The dutiful Slimulacrum leapt forwards, dousing the bombs with his dripping arms. Langlog shrieked and dropped them, falling back.

“No! You’re on my side!” he wailed as Slimon swallowed the explosives, destroying them.

“Just go!” shouted Mona, “Or I’ll MAKE you!”

Langlog didn’t need telling twice. He hobbled off past them as fast as his old legs could carry him.

Mona didn’t waste a moment sheathing her blade and darting down the now cleared corridor. She’d been lucky it had been Langlog; he was only a scholar and not much of a practical alchemist. If it had been Plash or Twinman, she’d have been in far more danger. Slimon fell into step beside her. He spat up a bomb and offered it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, genuinely, “But they’re ruined now. It doesn’t matter, though– You’re doing really great!”

Slimon nodded and dumped the rest of the bombs behind him. They’d finally reached the ground floor, now, and Mona could hear more explosions coming from the way ahead.  
With a rush of relief, Mona saw a small brown figure leap towards her, propelled by green flames. 

“Plague Knight!”

“Mona! Right on time! HEE HEE!!!”

“STOP RIGHT THERE.”

Mona and Plague Knight turned in unison, nearly at each others sides.

The corridor they were in was T shaped, with the two ends Mona and Plague Knight had come from, and a middle hallway down the centre. Three teachers were standing in the mouth of the middle path. Plash, short and chubby, carrying a large tome and a handful of powder. Twinman, the youngest, tall and pepper-haired with a string of explosives. And Ballard, in the middle, leaning heavily on his cane and looking very disappointed.

“Don’t go any further,” continued Twinman, who’d been the one shouting, “We’ve caught you! There’s no way out, now! Call off your guard!”

“HEE! I don’t think so!” chirped Plague Knight, digging into his cloak and lobbing a bomb at the three professors. Twinman answered by throwing his own bomb, which hit Plague Knight’s in mid air. The resulting explosion sent shrapnel in all directions. Plash flipped his book open, which caused a barrier to appear between blast and the teachers, while Mona leapt forwards, flinging her cloak out to shield her friends. 

“G-Give up,” called Plash, fearfully, “Really, it’s not worth it! Desdemona– I remember you from first year… This isn’t really who you’ve thrown your lot in with, is it?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Mona shot back, dropping her cloak and staring daggers at Ballard as the book-barrier fell. 

Ballard clucked his tongue. 

“Dear, dear… The young are so easily swayed…” he said, disappointedly, as the sound of yet more approaching Slimulacrum guards came from either side of the corridor, “Ms. Mopes, I didn’t want to believe it was you… Yet I should have known. You’re a talented girl, but so wayward…”

“You knew?” Mona stared at him in shock. 

“I am not known as the greatest alchemist in the land for nothing, my dear,” he sighed, “I can put two and two together… Follow the evidence… I suspected, I guessed… But until tonight, I simply did not want to believe–”

“That you’d been tricked by your star pupils, HEE?!” interrupted Plague Knight, giggling manically.

“You…” Ballard gave Plague Knight a look of contempt, “You cackling charlatan. You have eluded the law for too long. Step forward and accept your fate, if you know what’s good for you.”

Plash and Twinman stiffened beside Ballard, ready to tackle the little miscreant. 

“HEE! HEE HEE HEE! You’re going senile in your old age” crowed Plague Knight, “I’ve escaped every knight in the country! What makes you think an old fart like you could catch me?!”

“Well, first of all, you’re out of bombs…” 

Plague Knight flinched. 

“…And you are NOTHING without your little tricks.”

For once, Plague Knight had been struck dumb. Mona seethed. Finally, Ballard showed his true colours.

“Now, Ms. Mopes, please come away from there,” said the old man, commandingly, “Seeing as you’ve clearly been beguiled, we’ve decided to let you off with a warning, but–“

Mona gritted her teeth.

“Shove off,” she snarled, “I’m not beguiled. I know what you really are. A lying, selfish, horrible old self-important, sanctimonious, pretentious FUCK!”

There was a stunned silence, punctuated only by the tiniest burble of impressed laughter from Plague Knight.

“Very well…”

The professors advanced. Mona’s eyes darted from left to right. Professor Plash’s classroom was just next to the left battalion of Slimulacrum guards.

“Plague Knight, do you really not have anymore bombs?”

“Just a casing or two,” he hissed back. 

“Fine, give one to me.”

Plague Knight passed her the requested object without comment. Mona then grabbed Plague Knight’s hand and jerked to the left, lobbing the empty casing towards the Slimulacra just as Twinman tossed an explosive. The Slimulacra, surprised and confused, pulled away from the bomb casing, fearing the fate of their earlier fellows. This gave Mona just enough time to drag Plague Knight through the door to Plash’s classroom, and slam it shut before the explosion could hit. Slimon dodged in next to them, then grabbed a nearby chair and jammed it under the door handle, barricading the exit.

“Okay, okay,” breathed Mona, listening carefully as the teachers rushed to the door, shouting, “It’s now or never. We have to do it.”

“Heh, what? Do it? Do what?!” asked Plague Knight, who was shivering from excitement, terror, or both.

“Make the Inflammitation! It’s the only thing strong enough to hold them all back! We have to do it now!”

“Hee! But it needs a circle! And judging by those bangs–“ The door shuddered as something rammed into it, rattling the chair under the handle, “We don’t have enough time!”

It was then that there was a clatter on the dirty stone floor. Mona looked up to see Slimon dropping his hoe on the ground. He turned towards the door and braced himself, clenching his fists.

“Slimon..? What–“

Slimon tuned his head to look at Mona, and in that instant, Mona felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  
Slimon pulled back, then launched himself at the door, splattering against the wood, oozing his body into the cracks and sealing the exit in a solid brick of slime. His core, still barely connected, slid down the door and collapsed.

Mona stared. The door shook violently, but still refused to give way, held staunchly in place by the green goo.

“H-he bought us time,” came Plague Knight’s voice, from what seemed like far away, “We’ll have to act quick, heh, though we might not…“

Panicked voices came from the other side of the door. 

“Professor, no, don’t do it–– It’s not worth it! We’ll just come back with more powerful explosives–“

“Out of my way, Plash. I’m going to finish this once and for all.”

“But they’re trapped! You don’t have to– They’re helpless, there’s no way they can–“

“Twinman, you’re a fine alchemist. But you’re also an idiot. That Plague Knight has slipped through the collective, bumbling fingers of a kingdom of knights. But he can’t elude a superior alchemist…” 

Plague Knight scoffed. 

“…The king will be pleased when I bring him the body. It will be a shame about the girl… But she’s far too clever for her own good.”

Mona clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to let Ballard get away with this. She wasn’t going to let Slimon’s sacrifice be in vain. They needed a circle, and they needed one now. But how? She could picture one, see it in her mind’s eye… Where was it? She needed it… here…

 

There was a monumental tug in her gut.

 

Plague Knight staggered, and the desks wobbled as a violent tremor spread throughout the entire Academy. Stacked vials and beakers crashed to the ground, supplies spilled from their cabinets, and an especially poorly treated desk gave out.  
The floor was no longer professor Plash’s stained and scarred stone, but a completely different floor. One with a huge, decorative alchemical circle at the centre. 

“M-Mona––!”

Mona staggered back, wheezing. The shock in Plague Knight’s voice, coupled with the sudden appearance of the entire mess-hall floor was enough to tell her that she’d done it.  
She’d finally used a supremely idiotic spell and blown her amulet. She didn’t even need to look down to know it had turned blue. But it didn’t matter.

“Get the ingredients. We’re making the Inflammitation.”

“B-but– Mona… Y-your face–“

It was probably eroding away as he watched, she thought to herself. But she didn’t care. She was already down on her knees, pouring out powders and mixing chemicals.

“Now, Plague Knight!”

Plague Knight quickly leapt to the circle, glancing up every few moments to stare back at her. Mona feverishly poured her flammables on the pitch-covered core at the centre as Plague Knight dripped mercury onto the concoction. 

There was a roar from outside the door.

“Professor!”

“Good Gods––“

There was a massive BANG against the door, sending a ripple through the slime barricade and causing dust to dislodge from the walls.

“Open up, Ms. Mopes,” came a far deeper voice from outside, “There’s a good girl..!”

Mona ignored this and flung a pinch of silvery powder over the core.

“Light it,” she said, as another bang nearly knocked the door in.

Plague Knight tore a flare out of his robes and scraped it against the floor. He dropped the flare into the circle, then dove out of it, followed quickly by Mona. The light in the room turned red as the core came alight and began to rise through the air. Arcs of flame leaped off it, slowly forming into limbs, a torso, a head–

“It’s… ALIVE!!! HEE HEE HEE!!!” howled Plague Knight, leaping for joy. Mona’s heart soared. It wasn’t in vain. They’d done it..!

Then the door snapped in half.

A huge figure stood in the entrance, lit by the Inflammitation’s flaming body. Mona only barely recognized Ballard’s face, and her stomach churned.  
The old alchemist had changed. His wizened old body had grown several feet in height, and his skin had turned an ugly, leathery grey. Muscles bulged from his once sticky limbs, his torn robes barely hid his frame and his eyes glowed with some unearthly power. 

Plague Knight seemed to find the effect hilarious. He rolled around on the ground, cackling madly. Mona simply felt disgusted.

“What is this?” spat Ballard, stepping into the room and looking disdainfully up at the Inflammitation, “What is this pathetic pyrotechnic that you’ve stooped to..?” 

“ATTACK,” Mona snarled, her voice a sharp staccato of revulsion. 

The Inflammitation lurched forwards and reached towards Ballard. It grasped for his long white beard, first. A clever move, as hair burned easily. Ballard started back in surprise.

“It moves?!”

Mona grinned, firelight reflecting in her eyes.  
Ballard cried out in pain as the Inflammitation set him alight. Plague Knight cheered.

“HEE! BURN! BURN!!! TO ASHES, AHAHAHAHA!!!”

Ballard was clearly in pain, but he refused to give up.

“A mere parlour trick,” he snarled. Then he began to walk forwards. 

The Inflammitation resisted, but to Mona’s horror, its body flickered. It wasn’t stable. It had formed, but she realized, despair sweeping through her, that it wouldn’t last. The only thing keeping Ballard back was the heat of its body, but Ballard was already pushing a leathery arm into its chest, reaching for the core, even as his fingers charred. 

“Heh– Oh dear,” Plague Knight danced to Mona’s side, “Shall we, eheh, get out of here?”

But there was no way out. Ballard was in the doorway, blocking their escape, and only the Inflammitation’s quickly failing body separated them. 

‘No… No… It can’t end… Not like this…’

Slimon was dead. She was dying. Plague Knight was sure to be next. Each of them had bought the other time; hours, minutes, seconds… But ultimately, it had all been for naught. Slimon’s barricade lay in ruins, and Mona’s final act had merely delayed the inevitable. Ballard was moments away from breaking past their ailing construct and murdering Plague Knight in cold blood… 

Plague Knight… Who cared… Who wanted to know… Who knew so much, so many things, including–

 

‘Magic and alchemy are like oil and water. …Actually, they’re more like fire and black powder.’

 

Something suddenly clicked in her head. The circle was still active. The Inflammitation was extremely unstable. And she, Mona, was pulsing with wild, untamed magical energy.

If she was going out, she was going out with a BANG. The bomb was primed… all it needed was a wick.

“Oh Desdemona,” sighed Ballard as his fingers reached the core and began to close around it, “It’s such a pity… You would have made such a wonderful alchemist…”

“It’s Mona,” said Mona, unsheathing her sword with one hand and gripping the length of her hair in the other, “And I AM an Alchemist.”

With a single, sharp movement, she severed the braid from her head and threw it into the circle, towards the failing Inflammitation.  
As it sailed through the air, unraveling and glimmering blue-purple against the flickering light of the flaming construct, Mona ducked and scooped Plague Knight into her arms. Then she drew her cloak around her and began to run.

 

The explosion was deafening. Blinding. Blue-white light filled every particle of the room as magical flames that were somehow hot and cold at the same time consumed everything in sight. Mona just ignored it, still running, enveloped in the folds of her midnight cloak.

She ran through the collapsing Inflammitation, though professor Ballard’s glowing body, through the hallways, through gaggles of terrified students who safely occupied the outer grounds, through the gardens, through the hedges, the grass, the heaths… She wanted to see the moon again. One more time.

She ran until her legs gave out under her and she collapsed to the ground somewhere very far away. The world dimmed around her as she lay against the cool green earth, consciousness spiralling out of her grasp.

‘Heh… Bang…’

Blackness claimed her.

 

Until a few moments later. Mona felt the world slowly fade back into existence around her. She could feel something warm beside her, shielding her torso from the cool wind. A pair of spindly fingers were pressed gently to the side of her neck, and her heartbeat was nudging against them, softly.

Mona’s eyes fluttered open.

“Heh… Mona..! You’re awake!”

Plague Knight’s beak was just above her face. His lenses were slightly cracked and he was covered in soot and grass, but otherwise he seemed to be okay. 

“Heh, you… You lying liar! Hee! You said that if your jewel turned blue, you’d die!”

Mona stared uncomprehendingly. 

“I… I thought…”

She craned her neck up slightly to look at the amulet against her chest. It was blue, alright. Blue and dull, and yet, as she watched, a small spark of light flickered in its centre. Mona suddenly realized that she wasn’t in pain. She’d assumed that adrenaline had taken over during the confrontation, or else the numbness of death was already overtaking her. But the nausea and agony associated with using magic was completely absent. In fact, she felt… light. As if a great weight had been lifted off of her.

She sat up, surprising Plague Knight, who scrambled back.

“I don’t understand,” Mona whispered, “They… They always said…”

She looked up at Plague Knight, “Am… Am I undead?”

“I don’t think so, heh,” Plague Knight held up his hand, “I’ve had my fingers on your pulse since you collapsed. You never went flat. Besides, undead don’t have beating hearts.”

“Then…” 

Mona remembered Plague Knight’s shocked look back in the classroom. 

“You were staring at me. I thought… I thought I was melting, or something.”

“Nope! You just, heh– Well. Maybe you should see for yourself. I’m sure it’s not just your face.”

Mona blinked, then stripped off one of her gloves. She dropped it, in shock.

Her hand was green. Spring green, like newly grown buds, like vitriol, like emerald stones. Her nails had gone black and sharp, almost claw-like. She tugged up her sleeve, and sure enough, her forearm was the same cool hue. 

“Curious, isn’t it? Your eyes are green, too,” commented Plague Knight blithely from his seat in front of her, “And I love your new ‘do, heehee!”

Mona reached for her braid but came up with empty air. Of course. She’d cut it off. She pulled a loose strand of hair in front of her eyes and saw it shine with a sort of iridescence.

“…This… this is…”

Mona fell back against the grass again. Plague Knight jerked forwards, but relaxed as Mona gave a deep sigh.

“…They lied to me. My parents… They told me I’d die, but… Really…”

Had that jewel been hiding this, all along? Despite the abnormality of it all, she felt strangely… right. Natural. The lack of pain and nausea helped to cement the suspicion in her head. The amulet hadn’t been protecting her from her magic, it had been… concealing it. 

The vague question of why, as well as the tiny, painful beginnings of betrayal were stirring in the back of her mind, but Mona was too exhausted to care, at the moment. There was too many feelings to contend with already; elation at their escape, anxiety at their close call, grief over Slimon… She closed her eyes.

“Heh… Who cares about parents?” piped up Plague Knight, encouragingly, “Forget them! Hee! You just––“

Mona opened her eyes again, and pushed herself up. Plague Knight’s voice was singing with glee.

“There’s a saying– I’m not sure how common it is around here, hee, given the, heehee, authorities… But it goes like this! The bigger the explosion…” Plague Knight threw out his arms, “…the better the alchemist!”

Mona’s lips wobbled.

“Oh yeah..?”

“Yeah! And I’d say–– Heehee–– You just named yourself the best alchemist in the land!! HAHAHA!!!”

Plague Knight fell back, clutching his stomach and kicking his legs. Mona couldn’t help but beam. She was alive. She was okay. And best of all, she could see a faint curl of smoke from the way they’d come– not all had been in vain. The Academy was officially out of business. 

Mona looked to the other side of the hill they were laying on. Fields spread out before them, dotted with foliage and faint mountain peaks. The moon was growing faint, and the sky was turning a pinkish colour.  
Plague Knight’s laughter faded, suddenly, and he sat up, looking rather subdued.

“Heh… heheh… Well… I suppose you’ll be off then, heh…”

“Huh?”

“You’ve just proved your worth beyond the shadow of a doubt, hee!”

“Yeah… but the Inflammitation didn’t make it…”

“But you made it. And you can make it better! Hee! I’m completely floored!”

“Heh… yeah…”

Plague Knight gave a small sigh, “So, you’d better go and start that lab of yours! Fill the space that old fart Ballard left. Humeheath could use an alchemist of your talents.”

Mona stared at him.

“What about you?”

“Me..? Well… Heh. I’m off to the east. There’s an old abandoned fort in a place called The Valley that I’ve set my sights on. Bertram told you about it, before, didn’t I?”

“He… You did, yeah…”

Mona was silent for a few moments, before folding her arms.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here?”

Plague Knight flinched.

“Huh?”

“You’re going to go galavanting off to The Valley to build your empire without me?”

“I-–“

“Forget Humeheath. You need someone to keep you from blowing yourself up.”

“I–I– Heehee, that’s ironic, coming from someone who just blew up a school, haha– I…“

Mona faltered. She’d meant to tell him, in the only was she seemed to know how, that she wanted to come with him. Did he not want..?

But the next second, he’d stood up and held out his hand.

“I think it was rather, heh, remiss of me not to invite you earlier… Partner.”

Mona’s face split into a rather terrifying grin. She took his pale little hand and stood up, as well. She could tell he’d been offering to help her to her feet, but she doubted he could support her weight.

“Which way’s east?”

“Hee! Toward’s the sun, dummy!”

“Hmph. Cut me some slack– I nearly just died.”

Plague Knight broke into another fit of giggles. Mona looked towards the horizon, where an orange globe was splitting the sky like a glorious, warm explosion. She could just make out a tiny black dot there in its gleam. A tall building of some sort..?

Oh well. Her eyes glittered, and a chain reaction of joy burst through her chest. The bridge to her past had been neatly burnt away like the wick to a bomb, and whatever came next was uncertain and shrouded with mystery. Yet, standing here, on the precipice, with that small, clammy hand in hers made her feel oh so excited. The future loomed like that black shape on the horizon… But, whatever it was, she’d just have to see it when she got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so our story comes to a close! A satisfying, if uncertain one, I hope.
> 
> I had a -heh- blast writing this, and I'm thinking I might, perhaps, bring on a sequel? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Clichedly, but genuinely, I really hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Stay tuned for a little epilogue! Thanks for reading :)
> 
> \--TS


	11. Epilogue

“Heave! Ho! Heave! Ho!”

A gaggle of robed figures yanked hard on chains which supported a load of bricks and mortar over a beam, carrying it upwards towards a second, unfinished floor. Their comrades above rushed to receive the precarious package, reaching out and tugging the moving platform to their relatively solid ground.  
The building was alive with activity of this sort. Other robed figures dashed back and forth across the green stone floor, carrying sacks, hammers and full beakers.   
One particular fellow in slightly different attire rushed quickly through these workers, carefully weaving and ducking between them with a vigour befitting his hallowed purpose. He was clutching a large satchel over his shoulder, and sporting a floppy cap on his head. The mail was on its way!

“Oops, sorry, excuse me, watch out–“

He nearly bumped into someone carrying a whole tray of beakers, who fumbled and barely recovered them in time.

“Eep!”

“Sorry!”

The fellow’s destination was a less under-construction room farther on, in which a lesson was being held.

“…There! You see, once distilled properly, this particular solution’s makeup will bypass the usual quenching effects of water, sending flames erupting in every direction! Haha! The purpose of which, is..?”

The little instructor waited, expectantly. A robed figure put up their hand, shyly.

“…Erm… To… Make the water… On fire?”

The instructor snickered, running a hand down the long, greenish beak of his mask.

“Yes, to make the water on fire. NO, you ninny! That’s only part of it!! The brew will destroy any spores or detritus that enter the water supply, purifying it! Clean water is KEY to good health! So we’ll be needing a near endless batch, to be distributed constantly!! Sure, the water might taste a little funny… and become a slight hazard… But it’s better than dying of dysentery, isn’t it? Heehee!!”

The assembled figures nodded, nervously. Presently, their differently dressed coworker barged through their ranks, surprising several and causing at least one minor explosion.

“HEY! No bombs in the lab!!” squawked the instructor, indignantly. 

“Master! Maaasteeer! Hello!”

The instructor glanced at his approaching visitor, then looked back at his charges.

“Lesson’s over. Get brewing!!”

The class left, quickly. The little instructor turned back to the excitable man before him.

“Ah. Mail Minion. Has something come in?”

“Yes, Master!! A letter and a package from the Village!”

The instructor perked up, “The Village? Give it here!”

He snatched the offered items from the Mail Minion’s hands and tore greedily into the letter, first. To his delight, it was from exactly who he’d been hoping.

 

“Dear Plague Knight.

How’s work on the ‘Explodatorium’? You’ve been up there for almost a year and I’m getting impatient. I know you want it to be impressive and all that, but I really don’t care what state it’s in. I just want to get a look! Let me visit, already!

Things in the village are pretty boring. I’ve managed to rent a permanent room here. It’s attached to the bar in the main tavern, and I’ve been doing steady business. It’s alright, money-wise, but they still keep mistaking my alchemy for magic… They all think I’m a sorceress, or something. Sigh. Oh well. The hopefuls will get it once they meet up with you. Speaking of magic, I’ve been studying! …Which might be giving the false impression, actually. 

I’ve picked up a couple of books from the nearest library. Which is… not near at all. Unfortunately none of them seem to be much help. I’ve been reading up for ages but I’m still just barely mastering conjuring. I don’t know. Maybe magic just isn’t my thing? Or maybe my magic is a type that isn’t covered in these books..? Guess I’ll go on the hunt again.

There is good news though. Even if I can’t perform many spells, I have managed to perfect my very first AlcheMagical creation! It’s one-hundred percent imbued with my own personal magical power, and not at all unstable! See for yourself… it’s all yours. Thought it might be a little unfair if I learned magic without you. Study up, Plaguey!

Bombs away!

Mona. 

P.S. There’s a textbook enclosed. Happy reading!”

 

Plague Knight clutched the letter to his chest and bobbed, joyously. Oh how he loved receiving correspondence from his dear partner! He missed her so. But he was even more excited about the bulky package that had yet to be unwrapped.  
Placing it down on the table and tearing it open, Plague Knight retrieved two items. The first was a handsome red volume entitled Secrets of Arcana, which made him snicker. The second was…   
A long, thin walking stick. The staff portion was handsomely crafted, and seemed to be able to telescope with the push of a discretely placed button. There was a nice, comfortable grip at the top for holding. The head of the stick was pleasingly weighted and shaped like a little black bird, with green eyes and an orange beak.

‘Is that me..?’ he thought, peering at it, curiously. 

He held the stick almost reverently in his hands, before clutching it, jealously. It was warm, almost beating… Filled with Mona’s magic. Mona’s very Essence…   
Plague Knight’s heart fluttered, and he carefully tucked the precious gift into his belt. Picking up the book as well, he strode out into the main corridor, the Mail Minion following behind him.

“MINIONS!” he shouted, gaily, “Pick up the pace! We’ve got a –heehee!– bewitching visitor coming soon, and I want this place spotless when she arrives!”

There was a chorus of “Yes, Boss!”es from the robed figures, who began to work even faster. 

Plague Knight gazed out at the unfinished halls of the Explodatorium, nearly bursting with pride. Out of the shadowy land of dreams, something wondrous and concrete was beginning to take shape. A shared vision; the framework of a glorious portal into the unknown… 

He clutched his new staff in his free hand, imagining something else there, instead. He couldn’t wait to embark, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's finally it, folks. Thank you so much for reading. There might be something on the horizon, if I can get my shit together... but, until then..!
> 
> \--TS


End file.
